#you ever hear a panther scream in the dead of night?

[thecrimsonarcher]

The Zion Mountain Chronicles--Testimony from Sandra “Sandy” Hunt, former member of the Grundy Rescue Squad

It happened every night over the course of several days, starting not long after sunset. It would always come from the same place, a wooded area that was behind the strip mall that used to house the Pig. By some miracle, a small portion of it remained untouched by the flames, a sliver on the hill’s peak. We all believed that’s where it would frequent, possibly where it would “nest” during the daytime. Scary thing is, we never saw it the entire time we were there. Judging by the sounds it made, that thing was huge. How in the hell could something that big hide itself away so easily?

We weren’t stupid. We knew exactly what it was, except for the guys who came in from out of state to help us put out the fires and with recovery efforts. They had absolutely no idea what they had walked into. Poor bastards. They were under the impression Zion Mountain was a quaint little resort town, a facade created by the travel brochures they might have seen at other area attractions. We locals knew better than that. We knew the real Zion Mountain, the one controlled by the cult. I guess that was the real tragedy, huh? On the surface, they wore a mask to cover up the fact they were suffering. It’s sad. They didn’t even realize themselves just how much trouble they were in. Maybe it was ignorance. Maybe they were being naive. Maybe they knew the entire time, but by that point, they had fallen so deep into a hole they couldn’t climb out of. Either way, it was an awful situation that put us all at risk. That thing they brought into this world, the monster they called God, terrorized our camp.

I’ve heard so many stories about this thing, so many that I have no idea which one is true. Now, the one I grew up with claimed their God, Kalona, lived in the mountains outside of town. Some say it lived at the highest peak in the Unicoi Range, Hawkins Bald, where it would look down on the valley and watch over the people of Zion Mountain as their guardian. He would only come down from the Unicoi Range if they were ever in trouble. Kind of ironic when you think about it. They somehow fulfilled their own prophecy. Kalona came down from the mountains all right, but it wasn’t to save them like they said in the old stories. It burned them to death, it viciously maimed them, it hunted them down as they fled for their lives, and even ate their remains.

You’ll never forget that sound once you hear it. This thing made a wide variety of ungodly noises that would send the hair on the back of your neck on end. Right as the sun began to set over the mountain, that’s when the psychological warfare would start. It would last for hours and hours upon end without letting up, it’s end goal being to make us leave Zion Mountain. No matter how terrified we were, we weren’t going to let Kalona win. Not this time. We all had a personal obligation to help the families find the closure they needed and we were going to stay until the last body was recovered.

During the first night, we decided to make a temporary base of operations in one of the few surviving buildings in town, a Dollar General that had opened across the highway from the Unicoi Outlet shopping center a year before. By some miracle, it suffered minor damage, namely to the windows at the store’s entrance. Would you believe they had been riddled with bullet holes? Even stranger, the interior of the store appeared to have been mostly intact and there were no signs of customers or employees by the time all hell broke loose around 8:15 on the night of June 13th. In fact, the front door was locked. Dollar Generals typically stay open until 10 PM, yet this location’s hours of operation were completely different from the rest–8AM to 7PM. We all thought that was a bit weird, but come to think of it….a lot of businesses in Zion Mountain were like that. We never could figure that out.

The second night, we were all gathered in the parking lot, getting ready to have supper. Over the course of our occupation of Zion Mountain, there were many people(wonderful people, I might add) who were generous enough to volunteer their time and resources to help all of the first responders involved. Even if that meant getting a hot meal catered to us after a long day of recovering body after body after body from what little remained of the town, every small gesture meant the world to us. When everything seemed to be lost, I was comforted knowing that there was still a small bit of hope left in an even more hopeless situation. Maybe the people here had strange views we could never understand, but….they didn’t deserve to go like this. No one does. This was something they couldn’t have done to themselves. It was a decision someone made for them. Almost everyone in the Grundy Fire Department felt the exact same way. This wasn’t an accident and it sure as hell wasn’t something done to willing participants. The revelation sent many of us into a deep depression when it was all said and done, that human beings would be capable of such cruelty, to put their own fellow townspeople in harm’s way just to satisfy their evil god. There was no other reason. There was no other justification for it.

We were standing in the parking lot when we heard it for the very first time on the second night. The smoldering ruins of Zion Mountain were silent that night as the sun began to set over the mountain. As far as we knew, the entire strip mall where the Pig was located was empty. The parking lot was suspiciously absent of any cars, which we thought was really strange.

As it moved down the mountain, the sound of small trees being snapped and making impact with the rocky, steep terrain beneath the weight of this thing echoed across the hollow remains of town, causing everyone to stop in their tracks and listen. Branches from the taller trees broke off, sliding down the side of the mountain, some making impact with the concrete below, where the old loading docks for the stores once stood.

Whatever in the hell this thing was, it was huge. Sure, the Unicoi Range was no stranger to animals that were pretty good sized. In fact, I can recall reading the paper and seeing where a teenage boy shot a wild hog that was roughly 600 pounds about a year or so before the incident had taken place. There were black bears, wild hogs, mountain lions, and rattlesnakes that were as big around as a man’s arm up on the mountain, but nothing that ever lived or existed before or since was as big as this thing.

It started out as a deep growl that rumbled like a rolling thunderclap across the smoldering ruins, gradually becoming louder and louder until it was the only sound we could hear. All of Zion Mountain fell into a nervous silence, terrified and unsure of where exactly the sound was coming from. Even the lone whippoorwill that had been calling off in the distance prior to this hushed itself, scared of what was about to happen. The way the mountain stood behind the shopping center, it was almost like a natural amphitheater, amplifying any loud noise coming from it. For all we knew, it could’ve been further down the mountain. It was getting dark and we could barely see what was going on across the highway from us, making the situation even more tense than it already was. Not once did I take my eyes off the mountain. Was I terrified? Absolutely. We had no way of knowing at the time this was more than likely what caused Zion Mountain’s destruction. I had no idea we were that close to Kalona. I don’t recall when I came to that conclusion, but when it finally “clicked”, I was deeply disturbed. It could’ve easily came down from its nest and took us all out at once, but…it didn’t.  

And then, that’s when all hell broke loose. The growls suddenly stopped and it let out this….loud, bellowing roar that became more and more high pitched, like a bloodcurdling scream, stopping everyone dead in their tracks. Once it started, it wasn’t letting up. It screamed and screamed into the coming darkness, its loud wails echoing across the plain. It was like nails on a chalkboard at times.

From that night on, it became a regular occurrence we had other choice but to put up with. Starting at dusk, Kalona would start making its ungodly howls before finally stopping at 2 and 3 in the morning, leaving us so unnerved we couldn’t go to sleep. Sleep was out of the question when we spent most of our time dealing with the trauma of having to dig up the remains of our loved ones and being afraid for our lives. The stress became too much for some people, causing them to leave Zion Mountain and never look back. A few had to be hospitalized after suffering from nervous breakdowns, panic attacks, heart attacks, and in one case, a stroke.

Despite my personal ties to Zion Mountain, I refuse to go back so long as Kalona still haunts the Unicoi Range. Considering the bullet holes we found at the front entrance of the Dollar General, were they trying to defend themselves against Kalona, who suddenly came down from the mountains as the legends spoke? Was something far more sinister at play here?

–Testimony from Sandra “Sandy” Hunt, former member of the Grundy Rescue Squad

[ktheist]

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au. 

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

x

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you. 

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms. 

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it. 

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here. 

Yoongi takes another step toward you. 

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought. 

x

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie. 

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life. 

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie. 

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

x

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman. 

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

x

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

x

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

x

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

x

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

x

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

x

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

x

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

x

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym! 

[savethelastdan]

loving leads to bleeding (and your beauty is a blessing)

SessKagu off-shoot of this one except Akinori lives :) 

originally written for @sweepingtree 

When fourteen-year-old Akinori returns from the fortune teller’s home, he is ashen and quiet. 

This is not like his son, so Sesshomaru waits until the sky is dark and everyone else has retired, before going to the witch’s home himself. 

He hears of a future where he once again wanders alone; where hope sleeps away the years under a blanket of ice and snow; and Kagura screams curses at his back as she folds herself over their child’s corpse. 

Beneath his choking grip, the fortune-teller croaks a curse, if he is to intervene in fate’s design once again. “Your wife, your human daughter - when will it be enough? You must learn to accept grief, instead of forcing it’s hand.”  

But of all things, this is not one that Sesshomaru will accept. 

The Panther King dies the next morning, and Akinori turns fifteen.

-

Seed

“Mama, when will I have a spider mark like yours?” 

Kagura stills. From the hot spring’s shallow end, Akinori’s bright eyes watch her lips curve down. 

His mother is pretty, and thus so is her frown; but he feels guilty all the same. After all, the rare times she frowns are usually because of Papa, not because of him. 

“You won’t.” Dipping her hands in the water, Kagura scrubs at her neck as she answers. “The man who put this mark on Mama is gone now.” 

“Gone?”

“Dead.” When she says it, her lip curls, and since it’s halfway to a smile Akinori feels a bit better. 

He’s five years old, so he knows what death is, of course. Death is the time his big sister burst into tears because a bird flew into the side of the door during a storm; the thing that means he has only a sword waiting for him to grow up, no grandfather to go with it; the girl named Kanna his mother talks about when he sits on her lap by the looking-glass.

Death is sad, most of the time. But from the way his mother smiles as she wades over to wash his hair, maybe it isn’t always. 

-

Bud

“You’re sulking.” It is a statement, not a scolding. And yet, Akinori shrinks when he hears his father’s voice come up behind him. 

Pouting, he pokes his head around the trunk of the tree. Sesshomaru stands there, arms loose at his sides, and waits. 

“It’s not fair.” He points one claw towards the bottom of the hill, where his favorite cousin is still playing with the annoying boy from the demon slayer tribe. “She’s younger than me, how come she’s taller?” 

Sesshomaru scoffs in the back of his throat. “What a thing to fuss about.” 

Akinori is only eight years old, but he burns with what someday will be dubbed a righteous adolescent rage at his father’s refusal to take this seriously. “Papaaaaaa. I’m the strongest one, I should be the leader. But Minako said it had to be the tallest - “

“She’s taller because you have more demon blood. It will take longer for you to grow up.” Sesshomaru’s gold eyes glance over his son; Akinori doesn’t notice, but his wife or even his sister in law could hear the admittance beneath his words that this is not something he dislikes. When Akinori only pouts further, he moves to let a hand rest on his son’s head. “Let her be the leader for now.”

“But - “ 

“Akinori.” Sesshomaru’s thumb grazes the half-moon on the boy’s forehead; the mark of their family. “Let her.” 

The unfairness of it all puts the exclamation out of his chest, as he shoves his father’s hand away. “Ugh, why?” 

Sesshomaru sighs; his hands return to his sides. “Because you will outlive her.” 

Later, Kagura will scold him for saying it like that (as though she is anything other than blunt, herself). Because Akinori is eight, and hearing his father speak so calmly of his family passing away is scary. Scary enough that, when it is time to leave, he wraps his arms around Minako’s neck and shrieks. 

I’ll save you like Papa saved Big Sister Rin! 

Four parents discuss it in hushed (and extremely frustrated) tones that night; Akinori never finds out exactly what they say. 

So death, he thinks, half-asleep on Jaken’s shoulder as he’s carried out of his aunt and uncle’s hut, isn’t only something that happens to people he’s never met. 

It’s something to be feared. 

-

Bloom 

Pulling the blanket over his shoulder, Kagura sits on the side of her son’s bed. Though she’s watched Akinori sleep his whole life, since becoming a teenager he’s found it creepy. Whenever he complains, she just laughs and admits that she can’t help it. 

“It’s like my heart is outside of my chest again, only this time it’s wandering the world and getting into trouble,”  she says to Sesshomaru once. At the time, he hadn’t said a word. But the slight dip in his chin made it clear he’d understood. 

Now, her husband stands in the door, head held high. Some might think it means he’s proud; but Kagura’s spent too many years by his side to be fooled. 

“She said that he was fated to die.” 

Air rips away from her lungs, ready to fasten itself into a sharp weapon; Kagura forces it back, not willing to wake her child. “When?”

“His birthday.” Sesshomaru unfolds the mokomoko from his shoulders as he speaks. When it drops to the floor, out of the corner of her eye Kagura marks spots of blood staining the white. “It has been prevented.”

She thinks of Kohaku, showing off his latest successful hunt to a line of nieces and nephews; Rin, smiling and laughing within a huge crowd of villagers; her own reflection, growing older in the mirror. “Good. I wouldn’t let you come back here otherwise.” 

The statement is an unspoken allowance for him to come closer, and he does. Their sleeves brush as Sesshomaru settles beside her. “The witch spoke of consequences.” 

She says it without thinking. “Whatever they are, they’re worth it.”

For a moment, they are silent; both entirely focused on the sleeping boy. Kagura regains focus first, turning to look her husband full in the face. A speck of blood marks his brow, and she brushes it away with her finger. 

“It’s quite a lot of trouble, loving something this much.” She tries to keep her tone light; it doesn’t quite work, with the weariness in Sesshomaru’s eyes. Kagura lets one hand rest on his shoulder, and the other on the slight swell hidden beneath her robes. “Do you think your heart can handle another?” 

-

Akinori turns fifteen. He is gifted the sword that fights death, and a fan that makes corpses dance. His confidence in wielding each makes his sister shake her head in disbelief, and his mother show all her teeth in a smile. 

His father’s servant, Jaken, drinks too much and tells him the story of his birth. How he, the spawn of a wind demon, had no air in his lungs. How it was only the sword now hanging at his hip that saved him. 

“And now he’s gone and messed with things again! Oh, please try not to worry Lord Sesshomaru anymore, Akinori,” Jaken wails, wobbling back and forth as his eyes roll back. “I don’t think any of us could survive it if you do.” 

Akinori goes to his father, that night, and cries in his chest like a child. Because whether it scares him or saddens him, love is a bigger part of his story than death will ever be.

ALTERNATE (DARK) ENDING:

“It’s quite a lot of trouble, loving something this much.” She tries to keep her tone light; it doesn’t quite work, with the weariness in Sesshomaru’s eyes. Kagura lets one hand rest on his shoulder, and the other on the slight swell hidden beneath her robes. “Do you think your heart can handle another?” 

Sesshomaru’s lips part, but whatever he plans to say never makes it out; instead, he freezes, chest expanding in an inhale. 

“What is it?” Alarm sends her heart pounding hard against her ribcage as her husband’s yokai energy heats and expands, turning the edges of her vision red. 

He reaches over, clearly fighting to be gentle, and pulls the blanket down. Kagura swears under her breath, blood running cold.

On the back of one shoulder, a brown spider’s mark stains Akinori’s skin. 

[mistocore]

do you have any young skimbleshanks headcanons (other than those already present in the posts)?

SO MANY omg this might be long so

Skimble used to be incredibly reckless and risk seeking, more of an adrenaline junkie. Gus definatley bailed him out of a holding cell a few times in their youth haha

His favourite band of ALL time is Skid Row. He still has original merch he got in the 90s at a concert and has tried his best to keep it in pristine condition ever since.

He also listens to Anthax, Mastodon, Poison and Tool !! His guilty pleasure is Steel Panther, of which Tugger and Gus give him shit for fkdgjhdfkjgh

His heroes are Matt Fallon and Ozzy Osbourne >:-]

He went to university, meeting his best friend Gus there, but eventually dropping out of his Engineering degree to work on the rails as an apprentice.

Despite opening the bar with Gus and playing in their band on nights, he spent mornings as a ticket collector and carriage cleaner at the same station, riding rails to oblivion. He was subsequently fired for drinking on the job.

Skimble loves cooking !! He's mostly experienced in making soups and broths as that's all he ate when him and Gus were living on pennies whilst saving for their future.

He has a soft spot for the two girls in Tugger's band, Bombalurina and Cassandra. He always makes sure they're okay, he scares off anyone who gives them trouble and is always soft spoken and never hostile toward them.

He mostly became a lot more reclused and less outgoing when he was fired. He became broody and hostile toward people, mostly as a mechanism to keep himself safe. Behind doors he's lovely, really.

Skimble keeps a lot of his trauma and problems to himself. He feels like its not nesscesary to tell everyone. Only a select few know about his problems and he would like to keep it that way!

He doesn't get much leisure time, but when he has free time he loves to take walks around their town, despite the stares he might get. He likes sitting in parks with his headphones on and getting some tranquil fresh air.

His favourite foods are mostly just pastry bakes with meat filling, meat pies, medium-rare steak and mash potato >;-] he likes traiditonal, bland meals and rarely ever snacks on stuff. He's also not much of a spice guy, but can handle it when he makes soups or noodles with a bit of heat.

His drink of choice is whiskey. Never mixed, always straight and on the rocks. He also enjoys a cold beer once in a while, but mostly chooses strong-smelling, dark brown liquors over it. The kind your grandpa keeps locked in his liquor cabinet.

He's a smoker, and has been for years with no intention of stopping. He never managed to kick that addiction :[

Despite being an old man metalhead, Skimble also enjoys a lot of classic punk rock every once in a while. His favourite rock bands are Manic Street Preachers, Primal Scream, Catatonia, Dead Kennedys and L7 !! Mostly influenced by Gus, who just listens to what he wants.

Skimble has a distaste for shock rockers of his time like Motley Crue or Mayehm. (subsequently, Tugger's favourites include these two). But he encourages Tugger to find a sound of metal he likes

He also has a dislike toward modern streaming of music. He still prefers to listen to CDs, tapes and uses old walkman players for when he listens to things.

He and Gus didn't start dating until years into their friendship. Even after everything that happened, they didn't make their partnership a 'thing' for a few years after. I think they slowly just came to the realisation that they loved each other beyond a friendship, something more than just two people co-existing in a space. They have a true love and affection for one another, true soulmates building up their lives :]

He will hear anyone out. He will believe a lot of things people tell him and has complete understanding and trust in everyone he meets, but mostly out of his own protective instinct. It's caused some significant harm in his life being a trusting person. He doesn't like to speak about it much.

He does the weekly grocery shop for him and Gus. Gus is mostly focused on bar management with Griddlebone, choosing to kind of manage finances or stock. Skimble takes care of the homely stuff.

[gatheringofdawn]

Akumatized!Adrien Agreste x Reader: “In the Name of Justice and Love”

(Non-canon Miraculous Ladybug & Miraculous Ladybug AU: Akumatized victims can stay akumatized for days or weeks and their activity is darker than what the show shows—also in special circumstances, a close loved one to the akuma victim can gain powers to counter the akuma’s/Hawkmoth’s powers.)

[This is only a work of fiction and not to be taken as non-fiction]

“Saturday night. You. Me. And an oversized bucket of buttered popcorn,” Adrian finished up your idea on what the two of you were going to do after school. “There’s a new film from oversees. American. Heard the reviews were mostly near 100 percent in the worth it category.”

“Black Panther?” you asked, remembering the French trailer that played on multiple YouTube videos as ads.

“Exacta-mundo!” Adrian smiled.

“Is it in English or French?”

“Can’t say. We can always wait for the English adaption to come out. I can wait.” Knowing that you preferred watching movies in your native-born tongue, Adrian added, “I heard there’s some other movies preceding it. Wanna check ‘em out?”

You shook your head. “Do you wanna see it?”

Adrian rubbed the back of his head and smiled meekly, blocking out the dozens of times he watched the trailers and might have fantasized a couple of fantasies of Black Panther meeting Chat Noir, being the test subject of Shuri’s experiments for an upgraded suit...

“Well, I’d be a lion if I didn’t.” Did he let that slip out?

You blinked multiple times. “Nice try.”

Adrien chuckled.

“Then yeah, lets go see it,” you bumped his shoulder with yours. “It’d be nice to see something from home, and it’d be nice to show you what it’s like there.”

Adrien nodded. “See you Saturday night. 8pm. Out in front.”

You agreed, then both you and your friend parted ways, back to your houses.

***

Mud. Grime. Stale old popcorn and sticky soda spills splattered everywhere on your back, in your hair, on the back of your neck......

.......................sweat stains, rancid-smelling drool sticky on your cheeks and swollen lips. White and clear male bodily fluids falling from trembling thighs. The memory echoes of sensations long gone but ghosting over your paralyzed body. A male. Pale, sickly, sweaty, cursing, deep nasally voice, tall. A brown beard scratching up and down your neck and cheeks. Thin, slender, and physically strong from one hand holding down your mouth from screaming and the other violently, violently stimulating himself on you by whatever means got him off...

—You explained over and over to the police officers. Their faces were grim, asking for your parents phone numbers. You told them of your foreign exchange program in return for leaving their abusive home. There was no one of bloodline to call for help.

Around the fifth or seventh time you repeated the violent rape and violent rapist, did you notice Adrien standing there. Right in front of you with wide eyes.

Words scrambled out of his mouth and towards you. And you scrambled them back to him. A mess of blurry, fuzzy scrambles.

Alya and Nino were conveniently there. And watched after you the moment Adrian pushed a police officer into his car with surprising strength. Other officers physically restrained Adrien, yelled at him warnings and more scrambles to your ears.

He fiested himself out of the officers’ grip and tasked Alya and Nino with the duty of watching over you the moment he spotted the familiar black butterfly fluttering in his direction.

To you or him? He backed out of the scene, and the butterfly followed him. You watched him leave the scene altogether.

“I’m sorry-I’m sorry this happened to you...” the whispered utterings, so frail, so soft crept into your ears, like warm milk on the tongue. Adrien held your hand with frailty. His forehead against the hospital bedside.

Your own consciousness dripped in and out of his mutterings. But it was darkness when he was there, and morning when he was gone.

No trial.

The very next day, in the morning, what lay at your doorstep was the mangled dead body of the rapist. Mangled and maimed, almost recognizable save for that rancid scent of his doused in overpriced cologne... mixed with the heavy scent of his blood.

All your emotions numbed out. The shock from last night carried over to the morning, numbing out your response. Alya, who stayed the night as a comfort support, yelped in shock for you and immediately began dialing 1-1-4.

You kicked the body, making certain of its permanent state then closed the door. You whispered faintly to Alya how you would be in your room, going back to sleep (forget school today). With the most friendliest you’ve ever experienced, Alya was accepting of your need and closed the door to your room behind you.

Two pills of sleep aid would knock you out. And so, you slipped into a deep, lukewarm sleep again. Heavy, heavy nerves as weightless as feathers....

***

The scratching at your door led you to wake up at... noon. The sleep aid carried over a handful of heaviness to your weight and starvation, but you opened the door anyways to find Adrian crouched like that of a cat and looking up at you.

...you thought you’d seen the black butterfly that causes akumatizatuions last night.

Adrian smiled up at you. Appearing averagely himself, save for his eyes. Like a hybrid of feline and human. Round, green orbs with giant black irises within them, made him look excited to see you.

“Did you like my gift?”

Instead of answering, you backed against the doorway and slid to the floor. Adrian cautiously approached you on all fours, as best he could with a human body.

“I...I heard that, males like me, after an attack like this...” he said very clearly, eyes downcast. “I can leave if you want. If that’ll make you more comfortable.”

***

On the news was the last remaining body camera video of the rapist’s last moments.

“In case you’re wondering, I took the videos he made of you. Everything in his apartment too like the computer in case... well... I burned everything else in there.”

And in that video was his torturer. A large male in all-black, fighting and fighting ferociously and more violent than soldiers in the trenches, than mercenaries on the hunt, than boxers would ever hope to reach for in the ring. Glowing green feline eyes, howls and yowls of that of a lynx.

The news accused an overzealous Black Panther fan of going too far.

“Well, a fan, yeah! What could be a better match up in partnership than Black Panther and Chat Noir, milady?” He scooted up from your lap and pressed the side of his head against your chest, and purred. He hummed in pleasantry, the soothing coo of his purrs softening. “For you, to protect you—that guy had it coming.”

Your answer fell soft on your lips. Words you tried to form but to no avail. The depths of your hiding heart knew the answer and if only Adrien could hear it echo.

And he returned his eyes to the television, resuming his comfortable cat position in your lap. You held his hand, squeezing affectionately.

***

Over the weeks, Adrian eventually stopped coming to school. You met him and found his appearance has yet changed again.

He spoke from the shadows that coated so well with him they could’ve been him, and he would’ve been everywhere under this bridge in the dark of the night. “I’ve gotten rid of a few more. For all women, men... children... for you.”

You shook your head. No longer were you in the daze of trauma. An accusing voice shouted that you should’ve stopped him that very day this all started.

“The rapists and white supremacists, two of them are hanging from the US Embassy’s flagpole. God bless America. Home of the brave enough to corrupt justice and land of free to oppress.” His outline in the shadows, you could see him on all fours, slithering closer to you in a manner paralleling a lioness on the hunt. “The rest are spelled out clear as modern truth on their pavement. Starting with the first American rapist that terrorized you—“

A vibrant and loudly attentive purr elicited from Adrien. “My friend~”

A shiver ran up your spine. His glowing green feline eyes showed complete delight towards you.

How could you have stopped him? What could you have said to the akumatized feline-Adrien in those moments? Dazed in trauma, depersonalize to reality and even your own sense of self. Then, you’ll just have to say it now as Adrien stood much taller, much bulkier, much more alive right in front of you, with his clawed fingers resting underneath your chin to lift it up.

Small simmers of memories between the two of you, hiding on the roof at school during lunch, from Nino, Alya, and Marionette, reading to each other whatever either of you had on hand and by the flip of a coin: Adrien’s fashion magazine, your “Spirited Away” graphic novel, Adrien’s “The Boy and the Beast” graphic novel, Adrien’s “The Wind Rises”, your “The Raven”, Adrien’s “Sherlock Holmes”...

Adrien chuckled, a soupy mix of harsh purr and his own lighthearted chuckles. “Around 36 Americans criminals have already been rounded up in less than three days.” His neck cracked, revealing a thin layer of a black pelt under his obsidian bodysuit. “And I haven’t even moved on to Purr~risians yet~”

“Adrien, that’s the Akuma talking, not you.”

“I let Hawkmoth akumatize me, ______, and it was all for you.” He cranes his neck and spine down, leveling eye to eye with you. The gesture would’ve been normally sweetly teasing, friendly, if not for the malice and stench of blood perforating from Adrien like cologne. Heavy in his messy, unkempt black hair where matted pieces held together by brown-crust. Stained red in his whitened-yellowing sharper teeth. And his eyes danced with delight, but all you could see was potential betrayal. “Seeing what that putrid, evil man reduced you down to, how could I have taken that? How could I, even as Chat Noir, be okay with that guy walking free?”

You blinked, confused but for a second before it clicked in your head what he had been subtly expressing. “You’ve seen him. The way he looks. Influential, charming, intelligent, and a promising college student. I looked up his background on his computer, and no way would your country have prosecuted him. Justice would not have been served, ma chérie.”

His quick switch to English with that phrase threw you off into dozens of memories from America. Flashbacks. And you said, “My friend, my best friend,” and you gently slid your hand into his, scratching yourself only slightly on his claws and feline pads. “Adrien. Just please. Let me know where the akuma is.”

In a sudden, his arms wrapped around you. His heavier and bigger body towering, entrapping you. “My best friend...” his silky, sultrier than warm milk voice slid into your ears. “I’m not Adrien anymore. That weakling gave himself to me because he knew what had to be done and what could be made.”

“So now, and forever, all there is, is Dark Justice.”

And he disappeared with the shadows helping me.

***

He barged into school, having changed more into a feline-human hybrid and wielding a sword 🗡, that had once only been a lasso at his side, pointed at Chloe Bougarais. With kind, alight feline eyes, he spoke, “Even despicable women like you will be served justice, so tell me, Chloe Bougarais, who was the male that assaulted your privates?”

It took most of the class by shock and storm, hearing their gasps and whimpers. You lowered your chin. This was too much, so much. Your rape, your best friend akumatized into a twisted justicebringing mass murderer, Chloe’s hidden sexual assault...

And with her chin upturned, lips twisted but trembling, Chloe appeared to murmur out a name. Adrien sheathed his sword and crept down on all fours, sitting like a cat would with his tail swishing nonchalantly below the desk. “Don’t worry, he will never see another daylight. As have others.”

***

Adrien coughed out spittal and obvious pain. He glared at the ground then at Hugh, who’d just ran out of the courtyard by the aid of Ladybug.

“Have you any idea what that boy has done?" Adrian gasped, voice purring-rumbling in anger. "My lady?"

"Chat Noir?" Ladybug gasped.

"Not even you will stop me from taking his life. I won't allow it. Not now," he raised his sword and charged. "Not ever!"

Ladybug and Chat Noir clashed. Sword and dodging, she was doing really well. "Adrian Agreste, snap out of it! This isn't you. You wouldn't do this! Not even if someone hurt you enough that you were in the hospital, you would never hurt anyone! You always forgave them, you always found a way to deny their evil ways in a peaceful manner!"

Dark Justice had Ladybug pinned against the wall. "I changed for my best friend over there, for my lady. So do not think I won't go to extremes to supply justice. You've no idea what legal systems let him go free despite the evidence larger than a mountain."

The cameraman was filming all of Adrian's rant. All of Paris would see this.

"He would be stopped. If not by the ones we put our faith in, then by me. That's all there is to it, Ladybug; Justice!" Adrian clipped off Ladybug's ponytail. "The right to get what is earned! The right to end evil once and for all! Aren't I just a descendent of the French Revolution, savior of Paris?! Aren't I just barging down the mansion to drag the pigs who are protecting their fellow pigs out of their comfortable, lush halls -- I am dragging them, my lady, and they don't want that but I've kept dragging them out--"

Ladybug's other ponytail fell to Dark Justice's sword. She was looking panicked. Dark Justice's moves were obviously too much for her, and she was already crippled without Chat Noir to help her -- but instead, had to fight her well-experienced partner, akumatized and fueled higher and more terrible than the sun.

"And I will slice open their bellies, I will gut them in the center for all of Paris to see at the slaughter that'll never end! Never will it end! Not by you, not by the military, not by the president of the fucking United States of America, not by my father once I find him and gut him too!"

You stumbled backwards.

You heard an agreement somewhere, two, multiple.

You heard a loud cheer somewhere outside of the school.

Adrian dominated Ladybug in power and strength. His fangs clenched, not even a smile, he was too into this, too attentive to his justice. Ladybug would have to activate her winning move -- her Lucky Charm -- as her last shot.

"Is this what you want to do forever!" Ladybug screamed.

"Until the last droplets of evil is extinguished and the pigs can no longer breed, I will be their inevitable reckoning!" Dark Justice responded, "Don't you get it by now, Ladybug? I can do something about the people who escape the system, the ones who deserve to be punished and to the ones who contiuosly cause harm to other people without mercy. All I have to do is be given a name. I will hear them. I will avenge them. I will end their tormentors!”

Dark Justice's growls increased in volume, like the growling of a tiger and a chainsaw merged as one. He grunted and arched his back as his body increased in muscle mass — and slenders of black protective silky fur spread across his skin. Dark Justice completely overwhelmed Ladybug's strength as he threw her over his head. His pants tore and a loincloth grew from the sudden belt around his waist. His anatomy now that of an anthropomorphic big cat as his face violently changed into that of the creature's, and two masses formed on his abnormally large shoulders. He hissed and clenched his fangs as the masses broke from the surface. His growls and howls of agony of the transformation as the two masses shaped into similar heads like his own and roared upon their birthing.

Adrian really was no longer there, now there was Dark Justice -- the Judge, the Prosecuter, and the Executioner.

“OUR JUSTICE.”

“OUR FRIEND.”

“OUR PEACE.”

“WILL REIGN FOREVER!” yowling from all three mouths simultaneously.

And his sword glowed a bright silvery-white and transformed into a massive Hammer of Justice.

You watched all of this, falling to your knees, and knew how far this was going. But you would get your best friend back.

(POV switches and changes)

“Adrien!” I shouted his name like a vehicle was about to run him over, but that love and warning combusted in and through my veins like fire poppers. The pressure, the height in sensation, I continued walking towards my changed friend, slowly gaining speed until I was in a sprint.

Then I collided paws with Adrien’s. Mine and his. Locked in strength. My jaws stretched open to show their gigantic, lethal lioness teeth and let out a warning yowl.

Adrien was forced back by my strength. I held the form nearly identical in stature and prowess to him, but I was a lioness. Surprise clear to see on his feline features, but then your strength held steady against his.

“I’m not going to fight you, ______. I refuse to.”

Your nostrils flared. The scent of him permeated with blood, old blood, sweat from sudden shock and anxiety, rotting flesh. You growled, "I won't fight you either."

Adrian's eyes showed recognition. "What are you doing then?"

"Doing justice.” Her teeth locked on Adrian’s neck and held. One of his heads yowled. Adrian appeared surprised. Her teeth didn’t dig too far into him but just long enough to immobilize him... and discover where his akuma was hiding.

She spotted the oddity on his loincloth. Some sort of ticket. Their movie ticket. She grabbed at it but missed. It was lodged into his side right.

In all this, Dark Justice struggled to free himself. But her lioness form was much to integral against him, and she hurried. She grabbed the ticket and punched a hole in it with her claws. Dark Justice felt as if his heart had stopped. He fell forwards into her arms as Ladybug began to purify the akuma and the damage done.

***

Adrian stayed in most days after his akumatization. He played video games with ________ and talked with only a few of his classmates. Most everyone at school was wary of him now, but he still went, he enjoyed his time on the roof with _______ and learning new things in class, staying out of the house, finishing his homework and ignoring the near constant hammering of what he had done.

________ grabbed his hand in class. He tightened his group. Soul shaken, but smiling. Things could’ve gone worse.

Thanks to the Paris-Catacomb Accords of 2015, Adrian was completely clean of any and all wrong doing he had brought on everyone, as every Akuma victim was given.

_______ and Adrian looked each other in the eye. “One day, we’ll catch Hawkmoth and make end his reign of terror.”

[This is only a work of fiction and not to be taken as non-fiction]

[kettlequills]

affinity

unsure at this point whether elenwen would benefit more from a long course of therapy or a good dicking. luckily, neither of these are in store for her, so enjoy an elenwen who is not hinged at all plus sybille, who is having a very bad day. TW: blood drinking, cutting, violence, manipulation and threat, sexual themes, and character death. implied sybille/istlod, a lil elenwen/elisif, uhh idk if youd say this is elenwen/sybille but hm. enjoy, and gimme a shout if you think it needs an extra tag. a03

Elenwen discovers Sybille's secret, and has ... words.

The Thalmor Ambassador had come to Solitude and found an empty palace. No one else was there but Sybille, left to frustratedly amuse the Ambassador while someone hurried to fetch the steward, the Jarl, somebody. Anybody, but Sybille Stentor. Some dispute had drawn them away – some fluster in the training yard – Sybille neither knew nor cared, except that Falk was not here to ask the Ambassador why she had come to darken their door, nor even Elisif, to gracefully offer wine and bread to the sour-faced elf.

Even if it had not been months since she had last slaked her thirst in the prisons beneath Solitude, Sybille still would have had little patience for this. The Thalmor irritated her, with their poorly-hidden disdain, their smugness, their superiority. As it was, her head pounded, her throat ached, and moving around in the dim evening sunlight was painful enough that it made her vision blur red. She had begun to hear heartbeats in the chests of her friends, the Jarl she was trying to become loyal to, and each night was an exercise in self control growing monumental in difficulty.

And there was Elenwen standing with her hands behind her ramrod back, looking as if she had sniffed something foul. Her expression was so forbidding, so bleak, so threatening that Sybille immediately perceived why the weak-willed guards had found someplace else to be. For once, she was completely alone, unflanked by unsmiling justiciars.

Foolish, or another spiteful little snub. No, Elenwen had nothing to fear in the heart of the Blue Palace – as much as they might whisper into their pillows how much they hated Thalmor oversight, Thalmor gold still sweated in their palms as they tipped their toothless necks back for the glutting. Why bother with guards, when you had the helmless court of Solitude on a leash?

Oh, Istlod. How he would be ashamed, to see his court reduced to this.

“Ambassador,” Sybille ground out, hating this. She wasn’t supposed to be the one greeting dignitaries come to pander and parley. That was Falk’s job, or the Jarl’s – but Istlod was long gone, and Torygg was dead, now.

Torygg, Torygg. He’d been just a boy; Sybille remembered as if it had been yesterday his chubby hands grabbing on the front of her robes, his lisping pronunciation of “ibble!” before he’d learnt to say her name. A gangly teen, pimple-faced but trying desperately to be noble, the pride of Istlod’s eye, blushing-bold. Bare years after, before even the flower of his prime – dead, dead and cold on the cobbles. Sybille had promised Istlod to keep him safe. But she’d failed. She failed, and Torygg was dead, his murderer walking free and all that was left was … Elisif.

Elisif. A dear girl but… not Torygg. Young, foolish, easily swayed. Inexperienced. Weak, when they needed strength. When Sybille needed Torygg. She was fond enough of her but Elisif looked at her like she was drowning, always begging for advice, and when Sybille met her eyes all she saw was the moment when Torygg had heard Ulfric’s challenge ashen-faced, then turned to his bright young wife and visibly steeled himself.

Ready to die, rather than dishonour her, disappoint her.

It wasn’t Elisif’s fault that she had survived Ulfric when Torygg had not, but Sybille could not stop blaming her. Still, Sybille wished she was here now. The young Jarl was better at this, the inane courtesies, the lies, than Sybille was. Even if Sybille thought she was far friendlier to the Thalmor Ambassador than was wise.

“Court Mage,” Elenwen greeted, polite as picture. In her clipped Dominion accent, the two words sounded loathsome as a curse. Her lip curled upwards in an estimation of what she probably thought a smile was supposed to look like. It was all sneer, and like most of the Emissary's facial expressions, was tinged with pointed disgust.

She was standing rigidly in the main hall of the deserted emptiness of the Blue Palace like a stubborn brick over a fire. Choking all the air out of the room, stifling, her presence as oppressive as a lead weight. The maids had all found themselves somewhere else to be, fearing, no doubt, the Ambassador’s legendarily cutting tongue and Sybille’s own displeasure at being left to entertain. As if she did not have a thousand more pressing matters to attend to, and barely the patience besides.

Not even when she was well-fed, which she was not.

They stood in silence for a moment, Sybille warring with herself, before she grudgingly asked, “Are you in need of refreshments, Ambassador?”

Hospitality, to a pit viper. If Sybille had not been what she was, the thought would be funny. As it was, it only insulted – Solitude did not need any more secret teeth tracking the prey that would not be missed. Sybille had heard the rumours, like everyone else, of secret Thalmor dungeons, and screams from beneath the solar so loud that they could be heard over the music during the parties. The prisoners of Solitude – such as they were – were Sybille’s domain.

“No,” said Elenwen, a pinch too swiftly, as if the very idea was nauseating, “And yourself, Court Mage?”

Sybille's control of her face was not so slight that she blinked, but she was aware of a tightening around the skin of her knuckles. The words, the consideration, were so odd in Elenwen’s cold, autocratic tones that at first she was certain she had misheard.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” Sybille said rudely, and suddenly, Elenwen changed.

She turned fluidly towards Sybille and prowled closer, the stiffness as if she was daring not to breathe for fear of inhaling foul scent gone. Her sneer vanished, smoothed into a smile, wide and full, completely genuine, utterly threatening. Her eyes glittered flatly, like mirrors. Her movements were slow and slinking. Gone were the sharp clicks of her boots, muffled by some trick of her step that left her silent as a panther.

Sybille was left feeling like the world had suddenly shifted to the left and left her behind, as dizzy as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her. A moment ago, the Thalmor Ambassador had stood in front of her, haughty as ever, unbending with her stiff Altmeri pride – but this hungry, prowling creature was not her.

Her teeth sharpened in her mouth at the implicit threat that rolled off Elenwen, at her approaching closeness, the blood Sybille could sense flushing the capillaries under her skin, pounding through the chambers of her cold Altmeri heart. At once, Sybille was immensely aware that there was no one to observe them; no one at all.

And it had been weeks, weeks since Sybille had drunk her fill.

“How quickly these mortal children wane compared to the lifetime of an elf,” Elenwen murmured. Her voice was throaty and rich, the sharpness of the consonants blurred by a coastal accent that Sybille swore she had not had before. “How we see them pass us and consign the summers of our childhoods to the distant realm of myth and mystery as they bloom and fade in the blink of an eye. Truly, I am impressed at how faithfully you served the late Jarl Torygg, like you served his father Istlod before him. Tell me, how many of them have ... failed to see?"

Elenwen's horrible smile stretched wider.

"But I see, Court Mage.”

“I am perfectly well-appreciated within my position, Ambassador,” Sybille said coldly.

She was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. There was no possible way that Elenwen knew her secret, but the damn elf seemed far too smug for Sybille’s liking. She hated these types, the twisted double-talk that meant something else entirely. Was she attempting to recruit Sybille to the Thalmor? She had to know that Sybille would never have agreed to that, for Istlod’s sake, who had been miserable at the news of the Concordat, if nothing else. Now, if only they were somewhere a little more secluded, then Sybille could teach her some proper manners –

Except no, she couldn’t, that was the Thalmor Ambassador. People would notice if she visited the Solitude dungeons and came back with marks on her neck and a hunger to be bitten, drained deep, pliant in the arms of a predator, better attitude notwithstanding. And Sybille couldn’t kill her. Not without reprisal.

Istlod would have wanted Sybille to kill Elenwen. Except – no, he had agreed to the peace too. Her fangs pressed insistently, dully, on her tongue.

Elenwen’s smile widened. Sybille saw every one of her straight teeth. Too white, too even, lined up like regiment soldiers or grave-markers for war-dead. Some of them were fake, she was willing to bet. This wide, the makeup caking her cheeks folded around her smile unflatteringly, the thick foundation hazed with cracks. Fake, fake, but the blood that ran under her skin was real.

Sybille could force her to bleed, force her to feel spark-bright pain, force her to reveal the truth under her teeth, her claws, her little boot knife. Even an ice-spike would do, chill that golden flesh high and taut until it pebbled with goosebumps and she was shivery and damp, and the heat of her blood spilling over her chest made her gasp at the shock of warmth.

That would make her speak straight and true, if nothing else would.

“It has been a dry spell in the prisons, hasn’t it?” Elenwen purred, soft, sympathetic, as if she was commiserating over something truly terrible, “My condolences, truly, you have been much more patient than I would. But tell me, have any of your beloved young humans noticed you have not aged a day?”

“Many humans are not aware of the life spans of an elf,” she said, to hide the fluttering of something that was beginning to feel like panic or fury. “I am Dunmer, a few decades are no great time to me.”

“Could you go decades, I wonder?” Elenwen’s smile dropped, but the look that replaced it was worse, coquettish, sly. She contrived some way of looking up at Sybille through her eyelashes painted and curled with oil despite her taller height and took a falsely-nervous step closer, all awkward shoulders and sliding foot, just as if she was a wheedling young lover begging her first kiss. But her eyes danced brightly, privately, as if this entire interaction was nothing but a game they were playing, just the two of them. “I rather think you’re hungry now.”

“I ate this morning,” Sybille lied flatly, “with the rest of the hall.”

“Tch,” said Elenwen, as if Sybille had missed a step, and belatedly, Sybille realised it would not be any hardship for a spy group as developed as the Thalmor to verify that lie, “Are you sure, Court Mage? We could test it, if you like. How much of you would be left, after decades? It’s been such a short time, and yet, I can see it in how you look at me.” She came closer, thrilled and faux-breathless. "You are hungry."

“I am quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sybille bluffed, but she knew she had lost. Whatever game the Ambassador was playing, Sybille did not know the dance. She glanced haphazardly around the room, but they were truly alone. She could not hear so much as a scuffing slipper or clank of mail.

“Two months, three, since you last drank blood,” Elenwen clarified, so there was no possibility at all of pretending that she did not know, and smiled, smiled, smiled wide at the look of horror on Sybille’s face. Ice poured down Sybille’s spine. The floor dropped out from underneath her. No, no no, the Thalmor could not know.

“Were you fucking his father?” Elenwen asked conversationally, in the silence that fell, “Torygg’s, I mean.”

“I don’t… That is a serious accusation, Ambassador!” Sybille hissed, ignoring her, unable to name the feeling that started icy in her fingertips and spread dully and low up into her breastbone until she ached the whole way through. Her stomach knotted and writhed.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Sybille Stentor?”

Elenwen was so close now. So close that Sybille had to step back, her tall shadow casting her in gloom. Her eyes were half-moons behind the sun, and the light gilded her blonde hair like it was strands of gold. A strand drifted out of its aggressive pinning as Elenwen bent forward, swaying into Sybille like she was magnetised, and tickled there along her artificially-blushed cheek. Sybille could smell the powders, the hotness of her skin trapped beneath it. She had bleached with lemon oil recently, a faint scent clung to her, almost drowned by the floral drench of cosmetics.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Sybille snapped, mouth dry as bone, and Elenwen laughed. It was full and unrestrained, a laugh from the stomach, and nothing at all like the stiff, courteous little smirks she gave as ambassador. It rang, rich and loud, through the entire hall, down the stairs and over the thrones, and Sybille heard it with a sinking feeling of a lock snapping shut.

Elenwen would never have laughed so loudly, so out of her stiff Ambassador performance, if she thought it was possible she could be overheard. Would she? Was this a bluff?

Sybille’s gaze darted again to the dark eyes of the doorways, but the palace seemed empty. Were there Thalmor in the wings? Elisif. Was the Jarl safe? She should be – though had not Sybille sent a servant to fetch the Jarl, the steward? Was Elenwen planning to unmask her before the court?

“Come on now,” said Elenwen, warmly, her smile conspiratorial like they shared a secret, just her and Sybille, “We’re all alone now, and I’m right here. Why don’t you bite me? Look,” She undid the first two buttons of her uniform, exposing a long line of pale gold throat. “I’ll make it easy. Do you like it easy?”

“Are you insane?!” Sybille snapped. There was no other possible response to that.

Nonetheless, her eyes were drawn to the expanse of bared skin, the delicate lines of the veins and tendons in Elenwen’s neck. She could see the forklike line of her jugular, the thinner softnesses of her veins. Vulnerable. The skin here had not been painted and powdered, hidden as it normally was under her collar. It was paler, yellower, like Elenwen did not get enough sun. Sybille wondered how she bruised. Whether she would paint over the bruises Sybille would leave her, when she woke in the morning, and wondered how she had struck her neck in the night.

Sybille swallowed around a mouth pooling with spit. It had been too long.

She could see the hollow where Elenwen’s pulse fluttered, waiting for Sybille to sink her teeth home. What would she taste like? Could anyone truly blame her, if she took just a little taste, just the tiniest mouthful, to sate her burning throat?

Surely, if she was doomed already, it would not hurt.

“Bite me,” ordered Elenwen, steely. Softer, she said, “Bite me, Sybille Stentor. You must be so thirsty. Doesn’t it feel like flames in your throat?”

It did, it felt like each inhale peeled dry chunks of her throat off with all the gentleness of searing sandpaper. Elenwen was so close now that Sybille could lift her chin and kiss her, close enough that her breath, warm, alive, smelling vaguely of summer-wine, brushed Sybille’s cold cheeks. Elenwen’s warmth was like another creature between them, the impossibility of Sybille being the dead one, with Elenwen’s eyes like a mirror to every fear Sybille had ever banished.

“You must have confused me with someone else,” Sybille said faintly as Elenwen stepped even closer. Their bodies brushed, her breath fanned hotly over Sybille’s forehead.

Elenwen hummed a little, disappointed. “Perhaps,” she said, and suddenly there was a dagger in her hand, so quick even Sybille’s vampiric eyes could not spot it. Just as fast, the dagger flashed, once, twice – and then the heavenly aroma of fresh blood reached Sybille’s nose. On Elenwen’s neck, either side of her tendons, two deep slices welled fresh red, deep, deep enough that after the first droplet rolled enticingly towards her collarbones another followed.

Sybille swallowed. She could smell it, thick as perfume, tantalising as an oasis in the desert. Elenwen’s blood was fresh, healthy, and right there. It was bright red, scandalously scarlet, against the warm gold of her throat, like a slash of silk. The candlelight from Sybille’s little alcove shone and shimmered in the droplet like the magicka in it sparked and sung, for Sybille alone. Begging her, almost, to lean forward – barely any movement at all, to chase the droplet with her tongue, lap up along that proud, stiff neck to the wet gash that fluttered like breathless lips waiting to be kissed.

How fast was Elenwen’s heart beating, to push such quick, steady little pulses down her neck? The collar of her robes was darkening to a liquid blackness, but Elenwen did not seem faint at all. Would she be strong til the end, Sybille wondered, would her heart hammer and struggle against her lips, her hands, her body and Sybille’s mouth? Would she pant and gasp and writhe, or would she fall still and silent, terror-glazed eyes and frozen muscles, or best of all, would she struggle and strain, drum weakening hands against the firm cage of Sybille’s arms?

“It’s a bad time to be a vampire in Solitude, isn’t it?” Elenwen asked, friendly, almost sweet, “With all that terrible news about undead stirring in the catacombs. A death sentence for you if anyone should find out, I expect.”

Sybille opened her mouth but her fangs were beginning to protrude, and venom ran eagerly down her chin. Elenwen’s gaze tracked the wetness in her mouth, and her voice dropped an octave when she spoke again.

“But I’m right here, and I’m offering,” said Elenwen, soft as a spider, warm as the blood Sybille could not tear her eyes from. “I could do so much for you if you enthralled me. All the power of the Thalmor at your fingertips…”

She chuckled, darkly. This close, Sybille felt it vibrate through her chest into Sybille’s own. The movement of her shoulders had a droplet of blood, teetering on the steep ridge of her tendon, tumble headlong into the sleek curve of the dip where her collarbones joined her neck. The swipe of red glistened wetly.

“… and I have so many more little puppets dancing for me than you could ever guess, Sybille Stentor. You would never have to fear being found again. All it would take is… a taste. Bite me.”

Pressing her shoulders back against the wall, Sybille turned her head away stubbornly. The stone was cold through her robes. Elenwen’s warmth was dizzying by contrast. Sybille was hot with bloodlust, had never wanted so badly. She was aware, as if it was happening to someone else, that she was trembling.

Involuntarily, she considered Elenwen’s offer. Imagined stepping forward, grasping the elf’s thin waist, following the trail of blood with her tongue. Licking up that taunting trail over the rigid line of her tendon, sucking hard and strong on the slash she’d cut into her own neck, the bones of Elenwen’s hips fine as glass under her grip. Imagined how Elenwen would go moaning-soft and boneless as butter in her arms, her long ears brushing over Sybille’s hood as her head drooped. How Sybille would have to catch her when her knees buckled, the reflexive way she would go to push Sybille away turned to a trembling grasp, rigid at first by the pain, then softened by the venom, how her brilliant, hard blazing eyes would go soft, dark, round with venom and bloodloss euphoria, when Sybille imposed her will over her, how Sybille would drink, and drink, and drink-

But no – it was broad daylight in the middle of the fucking Blue Palace, there was no way that Sybille could drain Elenwen or thrall her quick enough to avoid discovery, and that was only if Elenwen didn’t have some other plan. There was no way that Sybille would go along with some Thalmor plot out of – hunger, hunger alone.

What would Istlod say?

Elenwen pressed close until she was crowding Sybille against the wall. Her body was thin and bony, the buckles of her uniform dug into Sybille’s breastbone. Her lips brushed the tip of Sybille’s ear through her hood when she spoke. This close, the smell of blood was intoxicating.

But Sybille was not strong enough to push her away.

“Drink,” Elenwen cajoled. “It’s been so long since you last had a prisoner, hasn’t it? …Such unfortunate accidents.”

Sybille heard the shift of cloth, that and outrage had her turning her head back to glare at Elenwen, but she was too close, and instead Sybille’s nose butted against her smooth cheek. Her skin was searing hot, a fine dust from her makeup tickled Sybille’s nose. Sybille felt Elenwen’s repressed shiver at the chilly brush of Sybille’s dead skin against hers in the pit of her stomach. “You-?”

“Me,” Elenwen confirmed, smile widening in Sybille’s peripheral vision.

Sybille was transfixed as Elenwen lifted her finger to the bleeding wound on her neck and shoved her finger in, stark, bold, crass. Her smile never wavered at all at the pain. Her bright, bright eyes were focused on Sybille. The part of Sybille that had been mortal once was horrified at her disregard, the part of her that thirsted so badly for blood it barely cared anymore found it unbearably erotic.

She behaved like a venom-drunk thrall, but she smelled rich and fresh, unbitten, untainted. Did she feel no pain, or did she not care? … Did she like it?

The deepened wound gushed redly down her neck, and Elenwen leaned even closer, until the warmth of her body pressed Sybille’s cold one through their robes, like she wanted to become one with her bones, buckles and all. She was thin, thinner than Sybille had expected her to be; she could feel the ridges of Elenwen’s ribs, her small breasts, the cavernous flutter of her stomach.

Elenwen’s finger, glistening with her own blood, raised towards Sybille’s watering mouth.

There was nowhere to go. She turned her head, straining, but Elenwen chased her, cornered her, and Sybille’s mouth parted involuntarily to stop it from painting her lips red. If she tasted the blood – even a droplet – Sybille knew she couldn’t hold back. She choked out a little moan when Elenwen let her finger rest there inside Sybille’s mouth without touching her at all, breathing in the scent of her, so strong, so present. Slender and long, she could have tickled the back of Sybille’s throat if she chose, made her cough and gag and choke, but she did not, instead she teased, not touching, not tasting, forcing Sybille to breathe around the inescapable allure of her.

“I must confess a little professional curiosity,” Elenwen told her, intimate as a lover’s whisper, “I’ve never met a vampire before, and I’ve always wondered how it compares. The blood of Alinor’s finest surely ought to taste better than the swill in the dungeons, though personally, I can’t say I’ve ever tasted much of a difference – Nord, Altmer, Dunmer, we’re all good in wine.” She smirked a little at that. “Won’t you taste, for me?”

The saliva pooled down around Sybille’s fangs and over her chin. She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Elenwen tutted. “I suppose not. Perhaps this will help.” She drew closer, closer, nudging under Sybille’s hood, until her breath puffed over Sybille’s ear, waking long dead nerves with a shiver. Her free hand bracketed the wall above Sybille’s head, then stroked down over the back of her neck and seized the base of her skull. Her fingers knotted into the hair there, each one hot as a brand.

Sybille forced her tongue against her teeth, trying to ground herself through the strain in her jaw. Elenwen’s blooded finger in her mouth was a burning beacon, commanding attention. Spit and venom drooled continuously down her chin. Elenwen’s thready heartbeat – affected, now, by the bloodloss – pounded underneath Sybille’s ribs like a call to war.

“I killed Torygg,” Elenwen breathed into Sybille’s ear. “I told Ulfric to kill him. I broke his mind and I told him to murder poor King Torygg. I was told he squealed like a stuck pig when Ulfric knocked him down, broke his darling bones with one of those beastly shouts of his. Did you hear them break? There’s a certain sound a bone makes when it shatters beyond repair, and the look in a plaything’s eyes, when they realise they are only breakable meat – well, you don’t need me telling you how sweet that is. … I envy you. I wish I could have seen it.”

Elenwen’s gory detail was not needed. That day was burned into Sybille’s memory, the dull wet pops, the snaps and cracks of Torygg’s bones, the horrible thud and the wail he’d made in the thunderous after-shocks of that terrible Shout, the bitter venom in Sybille’s mouth when Ulfric contemptuously cut his head from what remained of his shoulders with one swipe. Ruby-red, it spurted from the messy stump, it had puddled in the grooves of the courtyard’s cobbles, and weeks after rust-red flecks were found, splattering shoes and hems. Torygg had contained so much blood in him, so much of Istlod, and his iron scent was seared into her nose, her mind, mixing with the tantalising barely-there taste of Elenwen in her mouth.

Sybille gurgled on a gasp. She closed her eyes harder, overwrought, fighting to restrain the tears that welled there. That broke through the blood-haze. She’d known. She’d known it had been too simple, that it hadn’t made sense. But – the Thalmor, killing Torygg? Manipulating Stormcloak?

Elenwen moaned at something on Sybille’s face, tearing her concentration. The vibration stirred Sybille’s chest, the quiver of her ear, and Elenwen’s hips ground against hers in subtle, excited circles. It was vile. It was seductive. Sybille had never wanted to break more than she did now. She deserved to die. Wouldn’t it be worth it? Grief, sick desire, warred with prudence. But – this was what she wanted, Sybille fought to remember, the Ambassador was trying to manipulate Sybille to – to –

She was so thirsty.

Sybille’s teary glare did not seem to faze Elenwen at all. This close, she could see the breaks in the makeup that covered Elenwen’s skin, the artificial wrinkles that made her look older than she truly was. Everything fake, a performance. She made a negative sound around the venom bubbling out of her mouth, and Elenwen smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“And I think I might fuck that idiot doll you’ve got on the throne, too,” Elenwen whispered, and Sybille’s jaw muscle jumped. Her catlike eyes warmed with glee. “Oh, I know you were warning her off my little parties. Came back in too much of a state once, did she? The funny thing is that she approaches me – you should be thanking me, really, all that whining about her poor husband, but she cheers right up if you get a little summerwine into her, turns right into quite the … bold … little … slut.”

That last word was delivered in a hiss, lips brushing Sybille’s ear, and at once, she couldn’t take it any longer. She jerked to snarl back, and Elenwen’s bloodied finger rubbed the soft wetness of the inside of Sybille’s mouth. The rich taste of fresh blood overwhelmed her, blanked her mind. Sybille sucked reflexively, and Elenwen’s breath stuttered in her chest. She threw back her head, exposing her bloody neck, and ground hungrily into Sybille.

“Does your doll like knives?” Elenwen panted. “I do.”

Then, she laughed, delighted and breathless, as Sybille’s hands left the wall and found themselves somehow on Elenwen’s back, pressing her close, wrinkling her robes beneath clenched fists. She bit the flesh between her teeth, dazed, searching tongue prodding for all the blood she could smell but not taste. Her own venom burned her throat when she swallowed.

“Oh, though I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Elenwen continued, tugging her finger free, “She will learn to, if I want her.”

Her body tensed as if she meant to move back, but Sybille shot forward faster than lightning with a bloodcurdling snarl. She seized Elenwen’s hair and waist in a vicious grip, bringing her face close to the dripping wounds. The blood, hot and wet, the revenge, the wanting. At last, Sybille dared a tentative lick, a long, sure line up Elenwen’s neck, chasing the path of the bleeding. She tasted like magic, sun, knives, sharp and a little acrid. Intoxicating. Sybille smoothed over the wetness of the open wound, and she hesitated there, damnation at her lips.

A man’s face was before her eyes, fuzzy Nord-beard, mournful wrinkle-sagged stare. …Istlod?

Elenwen did not fight her at all, though Sybille felt the prick of her dagger against her ribs, a second from slipping into her heart, even as she whimpered at the tightness of Sybille’s grip on her fine hair. It was soft, thin as insect-wings over Sybille’s fist. Elenwen’s body hummed with tension like a live-wire, she breathed in gasps, and she trembled faintly with an unbearable want that Sybille could feel straining to pierce the skin, meet its echo in the parched emptiness of Sybille’s bloodless gut. But her knife tickled at Sybille’s robes, warning and promise both.

“Go on,” Elenwen goaded, her voice strained, a little breathy, cracked with desperation, “Hurt me. You must want to. I killed him, I starved you. Hurt me.”

Could she drain Elenwen before Elenwen stabbed her? There was some reason why Sybille could not drink, she knew that, but all thought deserted her every time she breathed, every time she couldn’t help herself and licked the welling blood before it reached Elenwen’s collar, tracing the topography of her willing throat. Elenwen made sounds, beautiful and ragged, when Sybille lapped at her with her cold tongue, shivered in her arms, all eager sighs and clutching hands and poised knives. But still, Sybille did not affix her mouth over the pumping vein and drain, drain, drain her dry.

“Just-!” Elenwen bit out, “What’s wrong with you? Just – do it…”

Sybille strained against her desires. A battleground between her self-control, the mind of the mage who had served loyally for years, and the hungry animal that howled for blood. Istlod. Torygg. The sweetness of the elfsblood – sunlight and sweat, blade-tip lick – in her mouth. The iron reek of Torygg splattering over the cobbles. Elenwen’s gasps, overlaid with the symphony of Torygg’s body breaking, shattering, pulping under the force of Ulfric’s rage. The world had quaked then, now it whimpered in Sybille’s arms, immobilised by her grip. Istlod at peace on his bed, still smiling his last smile. Torygg’s tears. Elisif wailing, when the sword came down. The war-prisoners in the dungeon, hollow-eyed men whose blood tasted of death and despair. The Thalmor’s snake-whisper, hurt me.

Sybille felt Elenwen’s ear twitch against her hand. A moment later, footsteps rushing towards them.

“Out of time, vampire,” Elenwen cooed, almost a disappointed sigh, and when she pulled back this time Sybille felt her numb fingers release her.

She swallowed, copiously, trying to empty her mouth of spit, and burned hotly with indignation.

“You dare,” Sybille rasped, but Elenwen only quirked her lips, apathetic to Sybille’s fury.

A flash of light and the marks were gone, eaten by healing magic. The dagger disappeared into the folds of her robes, the buttons done up, the stray hair smoothed back into its severe imprisonment. She stood an easy few paces away, as if she had never dared to come so close to a starved vampire, a vampire she had starved. It took moments, and through it all Elenwen’s expression was bored, not a hint of fluster, not even a breath of that wretched amusement or nauseating intrigue.

“I’ll send a prisoner or two your way,” Elenwen promised in a flat voice, plucking at the neckline of her robe. “Do think of me when you drink them, won’t you?”

She drew herself up, and suddenly the Ambassador was back, rigid and stern.

“The Thalmor appreciates your cooperation in this matter, Court Mage,” she said sniffily, the accent disappearing as if it had never been there in exchange for the ringing, cold tones Sybille was used to from her. Pinched about her eyes there was nothing but vague disdain, as if she knew nothing about Sybille, as if she had never clung to Sybille and all-but-pleaded to her, and in fact, considered her just as interesting as a cockroach beneath her heel.

She turned away when Falk rushed out of the bowels of the Blue Palace and greeted her with a flurry of apologies. There was not a wrinkle on her uniform. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble as she followed Falk, reverberating into Sybille’s ears, as if she was the only sound.

Sybille sagged against the wall, and cursed Elenwen in every tongue she knew. Sybille considered herself good at reading people, had thought herself safe, well-protected here at the heart of the court. But the damned Thalmor had her over a barrel. She had no doubt these prisoners of Elenwen’s would be nothing but good men and women who had simply fallen on the wrong side of the Dominion, and Sybille nothing more than a convenient way of disposing of them. She could not see a way out of this trap easily – Elenwen could expose her with a word, had proven her control over Sybille’s food source, had threatened the last dregs of the family Sybille had loved.

Sybille needed blood from those who wouldn’t be missed, needed secrecy, needed to be in court even more than ever to protect Elisif and Solitude now she had glimpsed the danger Elenwen posed: the disdainful Ambassador, the eager prey, the gloating predator, glossed in her makeup to falsely age herself, in her uniform that hid her thinness, with her secrets and her contradictory masks. And yet, the most troubling of all was that Sybille could not tell which of the sides of Elenwen she had seen was the truth, and which was the lie.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My little Panther; T’Challa x POC!child reader

*Author’s note*

The world is devastated right now. I had read the news last night and I’ve done my mourning, now it’s time for the tribute. I’ve had this on my Wattpad for a good couple of years but never transferred it to here. But hearing the loss of Chadwick, I knew I had to finally post this fic onto my tumblr so that you all can have a read of it. 

We all miss you Chadwick and you were taken away from us FAR. TOO. EARLY. But you didn’t let your cancer define you, you kept working and helped bring such an iconic character to life, as well as sharing the stories of SO. MANY. REAL. LIFE. PEOPLE (Marshall and Jackie Robinson) to screens worldwide. You will be deeply missed and will always be an inspiration to everyone. You and Stan ‘the man’ Lee are once again together in Heaven awaiting for the rest of the Avengers to Assemble.

Long. Live. King. Chadwick. Boseman.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@queensdivas​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@platawnic​

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I was hiding within the den eating the food that my mother had collected. All I remember from my old home was fire and death, I remember running to find my parents but then I had gotten lost in the jungle. It was then I came upon a cave, well a den really of a black panther and her cubs. Ever since then I have lived with my mother and three brothers.

I ate the antelope just like my brothers, wrestled like them and slept like them curled up next to my mother's fur. Even though I was different than them and didn't look like them, my mother treated me like I was one of her own and treated me no less. I was currently being bathed by my mother when we heard something outside.

She went on the defense position and gathered me and my brothers up and pushed us closer to the den as she went outside and stalked to whatever it was that was close to our den. I know I shouldn't have but I got curious so I stepped out of the den and peeked over the log to see my mother roaring and swiping her massive paws at another black panther, but this one was different.

This Black Panther mainly stood on two legs, and its fur didn't look like fur and its eyes were not the pure golden cat eyes like my mother's. Mama roared and swiped her paw again at this intruding Black Panther and the other Black Panther backed away and submitted to my mother before turning and walking away but then I saw it look right at me.

I ducked behind the log and raced back into the den just as mother came back inside. She then nudged me towards her back, I got on and soon she led me and my brothers out of the den and we all searched for a new one. Knowing that we had been found, we couldn't stay in the same place for long. Mama always wants us to move if ever any predator found our den in order to ensure our survival.

*T'Challa's POV*

After arriving back to the palace, I couldn't help but think about that child I had seen in the jungle. It was a simple border patrol but what I wasn't aware was that I had stumbled upon a mother panther's den. I had activated my suit just in case but I didn't engage against the mother for I knew she was probably protecting her cubs. That's when I saw the child hiding within the bushes.

After that I had backed away from the mother panther slowly to show her that I wasn't a threat to her or her cubs. Once I was far enough from the den, I decided that it would be best to head back to the palace since there was no sign of trouble, but still my mind kept going back to that child. Who was she? How long has she been in the jungle? Did she have a family?

"Ther. Brother!" My sister's voice snapped me out of my state of mind and she sassed at me, "Did you listen to a word I said?"

"So sorry Shuri, I just—I was thinking about that child".

"A child?"

"Yes, while I was patrolling the jungle to check and make sure our borders were still safe from any weapons traders, I came across this child in the jungle".

"Was she Wakandan?"

"Possible, she definitely wasn't an outsider I know that much".

"I'll see if I can any records on any villages that have been attacked".

"Thank you Shuri". It was then my kimoyo beads activated.

"Ohh your girlfriend calling you?"

"Stop it!" I then allowed the image to come up and up came Okoye.

"My King" she stated.

"What is it Okoye?"

"Trouble by the river province, poachers are approaching the reserve".

"I am on my way". Okoye's image then disappeared. Before I walked out, Shuri stopped me. She then handed me the updated AMP beads.

"Take these with you, they are a much better improvement than the last ones".

"Thank you Shuri". She nodded then I took off running out of the lab.

*My POV*

After finding our new home, I was outside our new den playing with my brothers when I took notice of something shiny just ahead of me. While my two brothers were busy playing with each other and my mother was bathing my other one, I walked away and followed the shiny bright light.

I tried to catch it in my hands but for some reason it didn't want to be caught. I was so caught up in trying to catch the light that I didn't realize that someone was hiding behind the tall grass. As I caught the light one last time, I heard a shot and I was soon caught in a trap.

I cried and snarled out before three men picked me up and one of them spoke.

"She may not be an animal but she'll still sell for a big price".

"Put her in the trunk with the others" another spoke. I thrashed around and let out a cry for help to my Mama. The men put me in this large metal machine and soon took off. I kept crying and crying until I saw my Mama running just behind roaring up at me. She ran faster and faster until she lept in the car.

I tried to reach out for her but the metal trap they put me in kept me from reaching my mama. She managed to get herself in and she walked towards me and used her teeth to free me, but it was then one of the men held a gun in their hands and a loud bang was heard again. Next thing I saw was my mama rolling outside on the ground.

I cried out for her when suddenly the large machine stopped and I along with a few other animals were tossed around.

*3rd Person POV*

The poachers came out of the truck after their car broke down and crashed into a tree. They all complained to each other pointing the blame on the other when the leader silenced them and ordered them to get into defense position.

The men spread out with their guns drawn and as one of them held out his gun he heard a twig snap and turned to see nothing. That was until he looked up and saw a man in a cat suit.

Next thing the poachers, one of their men was tossed at the truck leaving a huge dent in the door. The Black Panther soon showed up and attacked another one of the poachers. T'Challa now stood before the remaining two and as the leader and his second in command were firing at T'Challa. He merely just walked towards them before striking the second in command.

The leader took out his knife and tried to stab T'Challa but he managed to dodge every swing until he grabbed the poacher's hand that was holding the knife and twisted it until he let go and heard it snap. The leader screamed in agony and T'Challa told him venomously.

"Poaching is illegal in these lands, you will be brought before the council and faced with the consequences". T'Challa then knocked the leader unconscious and walked towards the back to see the animals that were inside but was surprised to see another thing in the truck, or rather someone.

It was the child he had seen earlier today.

*My POV*

As I tried to get out of my cage, I saw the same Black Panther that my Mama faced earlier today come around into view. I froze in my spot just staring at him. It was then his panther face disappeared and it showed that he was actually a man.

He had deep dirty brown eyes and fur along his lips and chin and on top of his head. He almost reminded me of a growing lion. As he got closer to me, I snarled and hissed at him trying to be brave like my Mama.

"Easy, easy. I'm not going to hurt you". He held out his hands to me as he slowly came closer and closer to my cage. He then unlocked them and opened it up and proceeded to back away. "It's okay now, come on out now". I sniffed curiously and slowly crawled out of the cage. "That's it, it's okay. I won't hurt you". As I got out of the cage more, I looked between him and my way of escape.

Then like a shot I took off running as fast as I could with the Panther man behind me crying out for me. I raced down the trail until I came to my Mama. She was still down and there was red stuff around her head and fur. I walked up to her and nuzzled her fur and roared out to her. I shook her with my hands and bit into her ear but she still wouldn't wake up.

I roared at her as I felt wetness come down from my eyes then I curled up underneath my mama's paw and nuzzled her head as the wetness continued to come down my face. The Panther man soon came up close to me and I looked up at him and he looked at me with sad eyes.

"I am sorry". He then proceeded to come closer to me and my Mama but I stood over her growling and roaring at him. I let out a hiss but he raised his hands and said to me, "I won't hurt her, I promise". I glared at him. It was because of his kind that my Mama was dead.

Mama always warned us that ape-like creatures called Humans were always to blame for territory loss, stealing our food and killing us to extinction. Now because of his kind, my Mama is gone. But yet looking at his eyes, I felt like I could trust him. I ceased my snarling and just held onto my mama's body.

*T'Challa's POV*

As I looked down at this mother black panther, my heart sunk. She was only trying to save her cub, even though this was a human child, this mother panther looked at her like she was one of her own cubs. For her memory I decided to call this Pantheress "Kamunyak" meaning "Blessed One". I knew it would be dark soon and I had to get this child back to the palace to get her some warmth before the cold settled in.

Wakanda maybe the hottest places in Africa, but its nights are unpredictable. Some nights it would be cool enough to sleep outside, but sometimes they would be so unbearable cold. I gently touched her shoulders and could feel her fighting against me as I picked her up.

"Shhh, shh. Calm down, calm down" I told her in Wakandan. I had to get her calm because I didn't want her to hurt herself. She was raised to believe that she is a panther and I don't want her to bite into my suit and allow the Vibranium to hurt her. I placed her close to my chest and rubbed her back calming her in Wakandan. When it seemed to work, I kept her close and headed back to the jet to take her back to the palace.

When we arrived back at the palace, I had her put in a special room with a bed and warm food so that she could eat real food. And not knowing how long she has been in the jungle or when her last meal was, I took the liberty to give her the best and healthiest foods Wakanda has to offer.

As I observed her, my sister came back with some news. She pulled up on the screen as she stated.

"It turns out this girl comes from a village near Wakanda. It was attacked by some of Klaue's men and burned to the ground. She must've found a way to escape and has been living in the jungle since. How she's managed to survive for 5 years I do not know".

"A Mother panther raised her as one of her own cubs, it would seem Bast herself came down and decided to protect this child as if she were her own". I said out loud.

"You're telling me we have ourselves a Mowgli? Like that story and movie Baba showed us".

"It would seem so Shuri".

"What do you suggest then my King?" Okoye soon stated out.

"She is a child with no family to call her own, and her adoptive mother was shot and killed in front of her. This child needs the best care and only we can offer it".

"Brother are you suggesting that you are going to raise her?"

"I feel responsible for this child's mother's death. I cannot just let her die with no one to take care of her, knowing that we can teach her who she really is". I stated firmly. My general and sister looked at me then Okoye bowed her head and said.

"Just don't freeze when her feral stage comes back".

"What are you talking about? I never freeze" I stated. I then turned my attention back to the girl and decided to talk to her. I opened the door and shut it behind me. She instantly became alert of my presence and she got down in defense position baring her teeth at me. "Easy little one, I am not here to hurt you, may I sit down?" She seemed to understand me which was a good sign, at least then I knew she could understand me.

I took a seat far enough from her but kept my eyes on her in case anything were to happen.

"My name is T'Challa, do you remember your name?" She remained quiet and poked around the fruit and sniffing them like a cat would. I took a deep sigh and told her, "I know losing your Mama was hard, I lost my Baba not too long ago, and I would give anything to save him too. But I swear to you on my Baba's soul and that of your mother's, I will look after you and protect you. You will never be alone". She then looked up at me and I remained still as I saw her actually coming up towards me.

Slowly and cautiously, but sure enough she came right in front of me until she wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled into my chest. I placed my hand on top of her head and stroked her hair and slowly wrapped my arm around her to pick her up and place her in my lap and hold her in my arms as she nuzzled deeper into my chest.

Within several months of teaching and immense patience, I had given her the name (y/n) was soon learning how to be a human girl, learning how to eat properly, how to walk, learning the history of Wakanda, even learning how to speak both in English and Wakandan.

I along with Nakia and Shuri taught her everything she needed to know and were there to give her the love she deserved and needed. As night fell, I tucked (y/n) in after a long day of staying with Auntie Shuri in her lab while I dealt with some political matters after opening up Wakanda to the rest of the world. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and whispered to her.

"Goodnight my little panther cub". And as I turned off her light and was about to shut the door, I heard her voice say.

"Goodnight Baba". I let a warm smile take over me as I shut the door behind me and decided to turn in for the night myself.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town - Killer Instinct

Yoooo, the MC has killed people before Cassell.

“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Even though it was clear that something serious was happening in this Chizuru town, Chu Zihang was only walking ‘somewhat briskly.’ not even a jog. You strolled with him, lightly petting the cat who was nestled tight in your arms. The air was still warm with early summer. The two of you looked like a boyfriend and girlfriend out for a stroll at night and wouldn’t have turned any heads. Were it not for the circumstances it might have been romantic. But your heart held no room for any sort of romantic feelings at the moment. You just wanted to feel safe.

“We need to save our energy. And I wanted to ask you. What’s your connection to the Lenin?”

You glance up at him. “I guess I do owe you an explanation don’t I?”

“Not really. Truthfully, I'm just curious. It pertains to the mission, but only Caesar needs to know. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” His voice was quiet.

As you continue to walk, you suddenly notice that the sky seems brighter than normal. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the power outage in Chizuru, the stars had started to become visible in greater and greater numbers. Perhaps in an hour or so, the sky would start to appear like the one over your old home.

“Looking back, it was truly a dreadful place where I came from. But it was home. It was beautiful in a lot of ways. Life was hard, but that made any level of joy and happiness so secret and special.” Smiling faces float into your vision, one by one, like an old photo album.

“The Lenin came by to resupply the port every Christmas. We always looked forward to it.” Your steps slow to a crawl. “It’s just as Chisei said to you. The Lenin made a stop in a nameless port in Siberia after which it took the dragon from the port and the port was burned. That was the last time I saw the Lenin, until today.”

“Why was the port burned?”

“It wasn’t… just that the port was burned, Zihang. It was bombed. There were people shooting at us from helicopters.” You couldn’t keep the tremble out of your voice.

“The scarring then… you were shot. Was that when it happened?”

“Huh?”

“When you were hurt. I saw the scars. It looked like you were hit by a high powered weapon. A wound that should have been fatal.”

“I wasn’t the only one shot that day… just the only one that survived.” You drop your face to fight the rising sorrow.

“The port wasn’t just burned then. It was specifically to kill the people there. Is that what you’re saying?”

You nod.

“Then I understand Caesar’s words to you much better then. It’s not just the fact of revenge… you’re a witness, MC. You have to live to tell the story. Don’t be so reckless with your life.” Chu Zihang said.

“Senpai, are you caring for me?” You say. “Hmm… what would Little Dragon Lady have to say about that?”

Zihang’s back straightened a little and you flinched internally. But then he relaxes. “I’m not sure if she’s the jealous type. You’re probably fine. After this mission is over, what will you do?”

“Assuming I’m still alive? I honestly… don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.”

“Understandable.” He suddenly stopped walking. A building was being surrounded by cars and motorcycles and from the rumble of the streets nearby, more were on the way. Vans blocked the windows of the first floor and men were making an effort to roll up the security door keeping them from the entrance.

“This way.”

“Is that the Internet Cafe?” You whisper as you’re ushered through the shadows and into a nearby alley. “I thought it was safe!”

He didn’t answer. He was watching people get out of the car with pistols and automatic weapons.

“On my signal… three… two … one…” He darts out of the alley way and sprints behind the people, approaching the building, hiding behind the backs of those in the rear. You follow as quickly as you can into the alley right beside the building. Sure enough there was a side entrance.

Zihang slices off the padlock holding the door closed and it swings open. But no one was guarding here. He motions you inside and you follow him into a narrow corridor. There was no light at all but the moon reflected off the rippling vinyl tile and the shining metal shelving. This seemed to be a storage and maintenance area. Zihang was moving silently and rapidly, not giving you any more instructions. He suddenly paused. There was a vending machine. It was off but Zihang could see what was inside. Clean packaged panties. 

He pointed the sword at the glass and carved a near perfect circle with the tip. Your jaw drops. Was Zihang seriously this sort of pervert? The circle falls from the glass with a quiet tap. And he reached inside. “Here put these on.”

You’re stunned. How could he have known you weren’t wearing … your eyes widen. “You peeked?”

“I couldn’t help seeing when you kicked.” He tossed you the package.

With anyone else you would want to slap their face, and you scowled as you caught the package. “Can’t believe you.”

“It’s not like anything I haven’t seen before. Like I said, I saw your scars.”

“Stop talking!” You hiss. “And turn around. I’m not putting them on in front of you!”

Chu Zihang immediately turns around as you take off your shoes and set the cat down.  Kitty darts under the vending machine as soon as he’s on the floor. Your embarrassment isn’t warranted. It wasn’t his fault but still, you can’t believe he saw that! But when you’ve got one leg in, he starts to run without another word, down the hallway, leaving you behind! You rush to finish dressing and slip your shoes back on. When you get to the end of the hallway, you’re suddenly blinded by bright headlights. The intense glare stung your eyes, but not before you caught the dark silhouette of the person standing in front of the car.

You blinked rapidly to clear your vision. There he was standing, in a leather jacket. That broad back. That blond hair. Your heart leaps in your throat. Caesar! He was alive!

But before you can even call out to him, another shadow darted past him.

Your eyes had just adjusted to the brights of the car only for those lights to immediately go dark. The car's front end crashed to the ground, cut cleanly from the rest of the car. You were blinded by the lights and now you’re blinded by their after image. As you’re trying to blink that away, you hear the crash of metal blade on metal blade and then a sharp sounding gunshot! The sparks hit the car and ignited the fuel lines and once again the space was lit up this time by firelight!

Caesar was engaged in a furious battle with an assailant that was taking advantage of the rapid cycling of light and dark. He was moving quickly, parrying every attack. Caesar couldn’t slow down, flinch or make any mistakes. He was pinned.

Without a doubt, this was the elite fighter of this gang, meant to slow Caesar down. The lobby of the cafe was filled with people with guns but they were all watching this man attack Caesar, like it was some sort of ballet performance. 

No one had noticed MC.

You crouch low, like a panther stalking in the dark, prowling around the chairs that were propped up on tables. You reach the man at the very end of the wall closest to you. His eyes were fixed on the fight. The speed of the two combatants was similar and their strength was almost equal. It was now a competition of swordmanship and endurance. Who could be perfect the longest. It was quite the nailbiter. 

You leap up and wrap your legs around the unsuspecting young man’s waist and your arms around the man’s throat. By compressing the arteries in his neck, he’s unconscious in a mere second! Then you grab his gun. You immediately point the barrel of the gun up towards the ceiling and fire it at the sprinkler system! The combo of the smoke and the damage to the nozzle sets off the entire system and soon everything and everyone is drenched in the heaviest down pour they’ve ever experienced! The fire on the car goes out and the hall is full of shouting. They’re waving their guns and looking for the target! Caesar dove behind a thick heavy wood receptionist counter and you take the gun and follow him in the dark and wet confusion.

"Is it necessary to fight even now? Stop when you recognize me, okay?" Chu Zihang yelled. 

"Damn, how can I be sure it's you? I can't see clearly! It wasn’t like I was practicing. If I stopped you would take my head off!" Caesar yelled. 

"Internal conflicts will be resolved when we escape! Unity! Unity!" Lu Mingfei also yelled. 

“Caesar! You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” You didn’t care what they were going on about. Your voice brought Caesar around to look at you. His smile was bright but then he looked appalled. He quickly took off his jacket and covered over your white button down that was soaked with sprinkler water and rendered completely transparent. Chu Zihang had given you a pair of panties but not a bra.

“Zihang! I thought I could trust you to take care of her and you’re letting her walk around like an exhibitionist!”

Lu Mingfei’s face was completely flushed. “I didn’t see! I didn’t see!”

“We have more important things to think about! Duck!” Caesar grabbed the back of your neck and forced you to the floor.

It would have been nice for everyone happily to come back from the dead, but there was no time for pleasantries and hugs ...... they heard the sound of short-barreled shotguns being loaded in droves. 

The sound of gunfire was deafening, and the barrage of bullets came overwhelmingly.

"MP7! Lie down!" Caesar yelled. 

Caesar knew the power of such rounds all too well. two seconds after he pulled you and Lu Mingfei down, dense bullet holes appeared in the wall opposite you. The MP7 penetrated the wood and still had energy to pierce the wall. 

"You can't look at them as ordinary punks, they're here to kill us!" Chu Zihang lay on the ground, not daring to look up. "Very well prepared!" 

“Don’t compliment them, Zihang!” You scream. 

All you can think is that the people from Black Swan Bay had come back. They’ve come back to kill you. They’ve realized you’re a witness to Black Swan Bay and they’re here for you! You have a gun in your hands and you can fire back, but it was nothing compared to this level of pressure. They were cheering and reloading, confident in their win. You look up at Caesar. He was wearing a dangerous smile. The wood was turned to splinters but the marble countertop was still intact. He casually tipped the marble counter so it laid more on its edge.

 The boys screamed with excitement, but the screams were soon replaced by screams of pain as the dense lead bullets bounced off the marble countertop, then bounced off the floor and ceiling, covering the boys from the front, above, left and right. 

Ancient chanting echoed in the darkness, as if ancient bells roared. 

The air instantly heated up and the light was almost like a sunrise. The wall of crimson pushed past to cover the boys. The temperature around them rose to five or six hundred degrees in an instant. The boys felt as if they were staying in the sun. The hot air entered their bodies and could even burn their tracheas! 

The black shadow stood where the crimson wall was born, black and red arcs of light flowing over the circular transparent interface around him. 

The Spirit of Speech- Royal Fire, at the most conservative way to explode with instant heat, not enough that it would kill. The gangsters thought they were unarmed, and they were indeed unarmed, but Chu Zihang himself was a Vulcan cannon! 

The high temperature quickly fell back, Caesar stepped on the blazing ground to pick up the short-barreled shotguns and bullet belts dropped by the mob. You hurry over to join him, looking like a child wearing his jacket. “Caesar… I’m so glad…” You were instantly reminded why you needed to stand behind him. While you were perfectly fine on your own, with just a shrug of his shoulders, Caesar had managed to get back at a room full of gloating loonies.

“Save your words.” He waved a hand. “We have to keep moving.” He kept his voice gentle but every muscle in his body was still taut. “Nice shooting by the way. I’ll put that in my report. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Die?” You respond immediately with a cheeky grin.

Your answer stops him short and he regards you again with an intense stare. “Remind me to invite you to the Student Union when all this is over. Though I’m sure I won’t forget.”

The boys were badly burned on the surface of their bodies, and now the adrenaline was useless. They were rolling on the ground in pain, and Lu Mingfei rushed over to stomp on these little bastards. The youngest of these guys may only be 16 or 17 years old. The oldest is only in his early twenties, but human life in their eyes is not something that needs to be taken seriously, the problem is that they really chose the wrong opponent. 

More importantly, they were too young to know who you were. They couldn’t be assassins targeting you over Black Swan.

“The high heels are really good for kicking people when they're down.” You quip with a little bit of irritation. Lu Mingfei had no clue how ridiculous he looked in that tight dress and heels kicking a guy with second degree burns. You seriously wonder how in the world he ever got on this team being so completely honorless? You wonder if you should tell Caesar what you know about his feelings toward his fiancee and then you realize that its likely that Caesar already knew and just didn’t care. It’s not like Lu Mingfei was any competition.

“Look down on me all you want. Hmph.” Mingfei shot back. “I’d said I’d stomp them and I won't’ be breaking that promise!”

You’re both interrupted by the roar of motorcycle engines coming closer and closer until the noise makes it impossible to hear! Bright headlights shone into the room and the black motorcycle veered around the broken car. The rider was holding a sword in the air. He opened his mouth and shouted a loud cry then dropped the sword forward.

The roar of the bikes was like the roar of the helicopters over Black Swan Bay. It’s not that you weren’t afraid. It’s just that experience told you that running in this situation was pointless. They’d just catch up with you and shoot you in the back. The only way to escape was to kill your opponent first. You didn’t think of yourself as a killer. Experience had taught you there was no other option.

You lift the gun into your other hand and aim directly at the closest motorcycle rushing at you. He was holding a knife, leering at you but his confidence burst at the sight of the gun in your hand. You aimed it right at the center of the forehead but then the wheel of his motorcycle exploded and the young man went flying off. You pull the trigger but the shot misses completely.

“MC!” Caesar snarls. "Don't clash with the madman! Retreat back the way we came!” 

When you catch up to him, he pulls the gun out of your hands. “If you want to criticize Mingfei, don’t use guns against knife wielders.”

“He was on a motorcycle!” Of all people, you thought Caesar would understand. They were nearly killed just now and he was already resorting to gentle tactics?

“Don’t question me.” He wrapped the rifle’s band around his shoulders. “You’re not getting this back. Let’s go!”

“You’re too stunned to speak. You had imagined that Caesar of all people would understand a true life and death struggle. It seemed only weeks ago that your friends’ blood was being soaked into the snow and you were not going to survive unless the enemy died. You stood next to Renata who wielded the automatic machine gun and mowed down a helicopter, killing those inside.

You have to do this to protect the ones you love.

Caesar, the one who understood so much about you, didn’t understand this.

[breanime]

Bre’s Boys Preference: How They React To You Being in Danger

Billy Russo: Billy is merciless. While you’re life is at stake, everyone and anyone is on his shit list. He is ready and willing to kill anyone who gets in his way of saving you, and when he finds the people who threatened your life in the first place... Heads will roll. You’re his, and he will do anything to keep you safe. Anyone who tries to take you from him is dead. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t rest until he gets you back and he’s practically bathed in his enemy’s blood. And even then, he’s still on edge. His anger is so strong and palatable, every inch of him is tense, he moves like a panther in the jungle, ready to attack at all times. The only thing that brings him any peace is you; he’s carefully controlled around you, touching you gently once he has you back in his arms. And as he holds you, he says those three words that Billy Russo never imagined hearing himself say: “I’m so sorry”.

Logan Delos: He panics. Like, it takes him a while to regain his composure. He’s on the floor, eyes wide and full of tears, chest heaving as he thinks of all of the horrible things that could be having to you. But he gathers himself, standing up on his shaky legs, and does whatever he can to get you back. He spares no expensive, hiring the most capable people to track you down, and he insists on going with them. Once he has you back, Logan finally allows himself to cry openly, his head buried in your hair. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he says, as if you’d left on your own accord, “I was so scared... I love you, I love you, I love you”.

Jax Teller: Jax wants BLOOD. He calls on the club, and they do whatever it takes to bring you back to him. Jax doesn’t care who gets in his way--he mows them down with ease to get to you. No one can get through to him--not Clay, Gemma, Opie, or Chibs--Jax is willing to set Charming on fire to get you back. And when he does get you back, he’s still not done. He holds you to his chest, so hard that it almost hurts, and he promises to never let this happen again. He makes it his personal mission to track down every single person who had anything to do with your abduction--no matter how low level they were--and make them pay. 

Coco Cruz: Coco gets so upset, he blacks out for a minute. The last thing he remembers doing is punching a hole in the wall. When he comes to, he doesn’t wait for Bishop’s approval; he just hits the street with Angel and Gilly. It doesn’t take him long to get to you--he uses his sniper skills to shoot down any and every obstacle that gets in his way. Every word out of his mouth is “fuck” or “shit”, and when he comes face to face with the person who put your precious life in danger--he takes great pleasure in stabbing him nice and slow, watching the life drain from his eyes. Then he’s over to you, grabbing you and pulling you to him, assessing you for injuries. If there are any--he’s memorizing them, categorizing them in his mind because he believes that they were all his fault. “I’m so sorry, querida,” he says, “I’m so sorry...” 

Angel Reyes: Angel calls EZ, and the two brothers hit the road. Eventually, the club catches up to them, and the Mayans track you down within a day. The entire time they’re looking for you, Angel’s blood is red hot. He can’t sit still, he can barely breathe, he breaks all of the speeding laws to get to you. He’s surprisingly callous in his revenge, killing without hesitation, without joy. But when he gets to you, it’s like he wakes up from a nightmare--his eyes are warm again, and when he touches you, his caresses are gentle and careful. Angel doesn’t let you out of his sight for days after that, always holding you and kissing you. And when he does have to leave you alone for more than a few hours, he insists on having EZ come sit with you, or takes you to Felipe’s until he can come and get you. 

Miguel Galindo: If his half-brother is all heat and fire, Miguel is ice-cold. He’s methodical with his anger, making sure to dispatch men to all corners of the country in search of you. But he isn’t sitting idle, Miguel is out too, Nestor and Alvarez at his side. He takes a few people off of the street and plops them down on his church pew. He spends a nice deal of time cutting limbs off and collecting information, and by the end of it all, he’s led to you. Miguel picks you up and carries you away, and for the rest of the night, he’s taking care of you. He puts you in the tub, sliding in behind you and holding you close. After that, he’s lathering you up with your favorite scents and then rubbing you down with lotions. He can’t stop kissing you, and as you sleep--finally able to rest now that you were safe--he watches you, his dark eyes staring at you while his head conjures up all the ways he could have lost you, and he vows...this will never happen again. 

Nick Amaro: Nick calls upon his brothers in blue when he finds out that you’re in danger. The NYPD (as unruly as they are), leave no stone unturnt in their search of you. Nick is so tense, he can barely take a step without flipping a chair or punching a wall. He’s just seen so many terrible things in his career, the thought of anything like that happening to you... It makes his want to scream. He reaches Stabler-levels of aggression when interviewing witnesses and suspects, and he’s almost taken off the case, but Benson has his back. When he finds you, Nick holds you close, his embrace both firm and careful as he holds you. He’s with you all the way, sitting with you at the hospital, staying at your side when you’re interviewed by the cops; Nick doesn’t leave you for a second. He’s still a bit on edge, but your presence definitely helps calm him as the night goes on. And when he lays down with you that night, he finally lets himself relax. 

Johnny Tuturro: Johnny trusts and respects your ability to protect yourself, he really does, but he’s still worried when you go missing. He spends all day trying to track you down, and when he can’t, he turns to Charlie. She’s the one who discovers that you’re in danger, and once she does--the whole house is on alert. Johnny, Mike, and Briggs hit the streets in search of you, and once the find the ones who took you, Mike and Briggs have to pull Johnny off of them. When Johnny gets to you, he softens immediately, holding you and whispering how scared he was, telling you “you’re okay, you’re okay” for a minute straight. It’s hard for him, after that, not to get a knot of anxiety in his chest whenever you go out, but he knows that you know what you’re doing, and worse come to worse--he’ll always be there for you when you need him. 

Rio: No smiles, no smirks, no chuckles. Rio is all business. He’s armed to the teeth, and anyone can see the tension in his body as he moves, his eyes glaring ahead of him. Rio takes no prisoners and pulls no punches. Either someone gives him the information he needs and only gets a little fucked up, or they tell him no, or something he doesn’t like, and get killed. Either way, he finds his way to you quickly, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Rio doesn’t waste time on extravagant speeches or showboating once he finds you. He puts a bullet in the guy’s skull, and then empties the clip in him for extra measures. Then and only then, does he let his body unclench. He keeps a hand on you at all times; a hand on your thigh as he drives you home, his fingers in your hair as he undresses you, his mouth on yours as he holds your naked body to his. Rio treats you like a queen always, but he’s especially soft and gentle with you now. Afterwards, you lay in bed together, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Go to sleep, mama,” he says, a small smile on his face, “I ain’t going nowhere...and neither are you.” 

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! This was unapologetically self-indulgent of me haha (requests are still closed)

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[multifictionx]

Predator - Hybrid Y/n x Mafia ATEEZ OT8

Chapter one: The Escape by multifictionx

Warnings; Gore, HEFTY amount of profanity, slow burn, murder, torture, Mafia v. Mafia, eventual OT8, eventual mature themes, MDI please..

Teaser

Y/n

Why is life so cruel to me... What have I done

to deserve the pain.. the suffering I've endured..

Feet treading through the long grass as I frantically search around me hoping I'm going in the right direction. Blinded by the tall grass that surrounds me, and feeling utterly helpless. But I know I saw the forest going this way. I speed up upon hearing the voices of them gaining on me.

"Little bitch went this way!"

"FUCKING CATCH HER! IF SHE GETS AWAY

WE'RE SCREWED!"

Their ruthless voices shout profanities, as they rush around the grassy outskirts of the building. All this is unknown to me.. my senses are going haywire. The fresh air along with the natural smell of nature is so refreshing. Busting through the tall grass I'm met with a vast forest line.

Thank the stars

I couldn't be more elated, my feline eyes moving around in the dark. The sound if their voices is alot closer now. I'm an no longer worried now though

If they want to come get me they can, cause in

here they're dead.

Now having the advantage, I shift into my panther form. Running faster as I sprint into the woods now completely unseen. Now stalking around the entrance of the woods. I watch maliciously as two men leave the grass line.

"Fuck we lost her.. where'd she go.."

"Shit we're dead if we show up without her!"

They are going to die either way

I leap from the woods slashing both men across their faces. Their screams doing nothing to stop me from tearing through them. My rage growing more when I see their bodies go limp. My labored breathing now the only thing heard. They could've suffered more...

Their pain will never compare to mine.

But I can't stay here long, hearing the several footsteps approaching the grass line.

I sprint into the darkness of the woods, taking my small win. The adrenaline rushing through me has me running faster than ever before. Yet the sedative I was forced injected with, has everything slowly starting to get hazy.

I am finally free

The breeze going through my fur feels amazing, as I run with excitement. The woods at night with nothing but the full moon to light the darkness, is such a beautiful sight even this state

I can't believe I'm seeing this for the first time

in my life. Feeling this..freedom

*Screech* *Bam*

Fuck...

The last thing I see with my blurry eyes, is a pair of nice dress shoes, then darkness.

--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_-

Narrative pov

"The 6ix are planning to take area B3, they've

managed to place their troops along our

borders discreetly."

The right-hand man states dryly. As he reads off the paper he prepared before the car ride.

"How were they even able to scheme up a

plan like this without our knowledge."

The youngest ask' rhetorically, obviously the most annoyed with the current situation.

"I believe we have a mole amongst our men."

The leader enlightens seemingly nonchalant. A wicked smile stretches on his features.

"Looks like someone is going to die"

The leader adds sinisterly, fingers itching to end the life of whoever the traitor is.

"This is a pain in th-"

The youngest is suddenly cut off, when the driver abruptly steps on the breaks. The sound of a thump following shortly after.

"Dooyoung what the hell did you just hit?"

The blonde haired man, demands now even more annoyed.

"Um.. S-Sir Yunho-ssi, I'm not really sure.. I could barely see it when it barreled out of the woods.. i-it looked like a big black cat"

The driver hastily explains himself, not trying to piss them off even more.

"I-i'll go check.."

The driver offers, but gets halted as a member has already opened their door.

???(San)

A big black cat? Is he delusional, there's no

way a panther is here in Seoul..

Nevertheless I fix my suit as I exit the car. Now walking along side the long vehicle. Though as I approach the front of the limo.

Are those.. legs?...This is quite interesting..

Now crouched down in front of the vehicle. My brows pulled together in a frown. Eyes on the unconscious woman, both injured and completely uncovered. But that's not even the most bizarre thing about this whole thing.

Those are definitely cat ears.. that is a tail..

I remove my dress coat to drape it over her much smaller frame. Grabbing her without much thought, already moving to get back in the car.

Please leave feedback- Should I continue?

Also please repost, it would really be appreciated! I'm new to posting on Tumblr so bare with me, but my request are open just dm 🙂

[noctuaas]

AS YOU WISH

synopsis; in this tale of romance, revenge, and treason, you, a beautiful commoner, are set to become the princess of aobajousai. will your one true love be able to save you in time?

pairing; kuroo tetsurou x reader

content; princess bride au (heavily based on both the movie and novel), medieval au, torture, mild violence, drama, fantasy/adventure, murder, minor character death, fem!reader

fic navigation

03 ; THE KIDNAPPING

ONE YEAR AFTER YOU agreed to marry Prince Oikawa, the great square of Seijoh City was filled to the brim. The people of Aobajohsai were awaiting the introduction of Prince Oikawa’s bride-to-be. The crowd had begun forming a whole 24 hours before, but at 15 hours before, it was no more than maybe a couple hundred people. But as the moment of introduction neared, people from all across the country gathered.

At noontime, Prince Oikawa appeared on the balcony of his father’s castle and raised his arms. The crowd, which was dangerously large at this point, slowly quieted down. Rumors were flooding the kingdom, that the King was dying, that he was already dead, that he was fine.

“My beloved people, today is a day of greeting. As you’ve probably heard, my father’s health is not what it once was. Now, in three months, our country celebrates its 500th anniversary.”

A few whoops echoed through the crowd, but most remained silent.

“To celebrate that celebration, I shall marry your future princess on that sundown,” Oikawa announced. “She was once a commoner like yourselves, but perhaps you will not find her to be so common anymore. I introduce to you the lady of the hour, (y/n).”

The Prince made a sweeping gesture and the doors swung open behind him, and you stepped out beside him on the balcony. The crowd gasped, and bowed, for their future princess truly was beautiful. A year spent in the castle, and your beauty had doubled, no, tripled.

You waved, looking down at the people fondly, but it was interrupted by Oikawa ushering you away.

“Alright, back inside. Don’t want to risk overexposure.”

“But some of them have waited so long,” you argued. “I’d like to walk among them.”

“We only walk among commoners when we need to,” said the Prince.

“I am a commoner,” you reminded him sharply, and with that you left the balcony before reappearing a few minutes later at the great steps of the castle.

Wherever you went the people parted. Most of them there would certainly never forget that day. The great majority adored you instantly. Sure, there were some that withheld judgement until they could see how fit you were as a queen, and even some who were frankly jealous. But very few hated you.

And only three of them were planning to murder you.

Naturally, you knew none of this. You were smiling. When the people wanted to touch your dress, you let them, and when they wanted to brush their skin against yours, you let them do that too. You studied hard to do things royally, and you wanted to succeed, so you kept your posture erect and your eyes gentle. If someone had told you your death was close, you would have laughed. But—

—in the farthest corner of the square, in the highest building of the land, deep in the deepest shadow, the man in black stood waiting.

His boots were black and leather. His pants were black and his shirt too. His mask was black, blacker than a panther. The only thing that wasn’t black was his flashing eyes; they were the color of centuries-old amber under the Aoban sun.

Flashing and cruel and deadly.

You were more than a little weary after your triumph. Walking the crowds while remaining all royal-appearing was exhausting, so you rested a bit, before deciding around mid afternoon that you would go for a ride on Prince (the horse, of course). Riding was the one aspect of your life that hadn’t changed since agreeing to marry the Prince (the human, of course). You still loved to ride, and almost every afternoon, you rode alone in the wild land behind the castle.

You did your best thinking then. Not that your best thinking expanded any horizons; you weren’t even actually part of the royal family yet. Still, you told yourself, there was no harm in thinking.

Your brain was awhirl as you rode through woods and streams and heather. The walk through the crowds had moved you, and in a way most strange. For even though you had done nothing for a year now but train to be a princess and a queen, today was the first day you actually understood that it was all soon to be a reality.

You just didn’t like Prince Oikawa all that much. It wasn’t that you hated him, not at all. But you never really saw him; he was always off doing princely duties or on a hunting trip.

In your way of thinking, there were two main problems: (1) was it wrong to marry someone you didn’t much like, and (2) if it was, was it too late to do anything about it?

The answers, to your way of thinking, were: (1) no and (2) yes.

It wasn't wrong to marry someone you didn't like, it just wasn't right either. If the whole world did it, that wouldn't be so great, what with everybody kind of grunting at everybody else as the years went by. But, of course, not everybody did it, so it wasn’t a big problem.

The answer to the second question was even easier; you had given your word that you would marry, and that was that.

Since agreeing to marry, you had heard nonstop that you must be the most beautiful woman in the world, and soon you would also be the richest and the most powerful woman in the world too.

With a sigh, you told yourself that you shouldn’t be so ungrateful for all of this. You would have to learn to be satisfied with what you had.

Dusk was closing in, and you were probably a 30 minute ride from the castle, when you suddenly reined in your horse at the hillcrest; for in the dimness beyond stood quite possibly the strangest trio you had ever seen.

The man in front was pale, with a gentle face; his almost white-blonde hair made him appear angelic. He was long-legged and lanky, but when he moved toward you, he took surprisingly small, quick steps. (It reminded you of the way the Queen had trained you to walk, all feminine and princess-like.) The other two men remained rooted.

The second, also pale, appeared as cold and slender as the blade of steel at his side. The third man, broad, with strange two-toned hair, was easily the biggest man you had ever seen.

“Please, a word, miss?” the blonde raised his hand. His smile was almost more angelic than his face.

You nodded for him to go on.

“We are but poor, lost circus performers,” the blonde explained. “We were told there is a village nearby where we could settle for the night.”

“You’re mistaken,” you told him. What poor souls, you thought. “There is nothing nearby, not for many miles.”

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream,” the blonde said. As his angelic smile contorted into a wry, ugly sneer, he jumped with surprising agility toward your face.

That was the last thing you remembered. Perhaps you screamed, perhaps you didn’t, but if you had, it certainly wasn’t from the pain; the blonde man had expertly found a pressure point on your neck and knocked you out cold.

You awoke to the lapping of water. You were wrapped in a blanket, and the giant man was carrying you to place you in a boat. For a moment you almost screamed, but then you thought it might be better to listen. (It was a bit difficult though, considering the increasing pounding of your heart.

The sound of ripping cloth caught your attention first.

“What is that?” the swordsman asked.

“Same as I attached to her saddle,” the blonde replied. “Fabric from the uniform of a Shiratorizawa soldier.”

Suddenly you heard Prince (the horse, you see) squeal slightly, and then his thundering hooves retreating far away.

“Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make everyone suspect that the Shiratorizawans abducted the Prince’s fiance. Once she is found dead at the Shiratorizawa frontier, there’ll be no denying it.”

“Wait, you never said anything about killing anyone,” said the giant, looking a little distraught.

“We’ve been hired to start a war, it’s kind of in the job description,” the blonde bit back.

“Well, I just don’t really think it’s right to kill an innocent girl.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed and face twitched in sudden irritation.

“Have I gone mad, or did the word ‘think’ just escape your lips?” he stood up defiantly, but even with his lanky frame, the giant dwarfed him. “I did not hire you for your brains!”

“I agree with Bokuto. Let’s just make it seem like she was taken for ransom,” the slender swordsman finally spoke up.

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea, Akaashi.”

“It’s too late,” the blonde said. “She’s been awake this whole time, so she already knows our plans.”

You lay under the blanket, unmoving. How could he have known that?

“The Great Tsukishima senses all,” the blonde seemed to answer you. Was he a mind reader? (A conceited one, if he was.)

It didn’t matter if he was or not, for now you were all setting sail. Not once did you speak a word, not when it grew dark, and not when the moon rose high into the night sky.

“We’re making good time, we should be at the cliffs by dawn,” the blonde announced aloud. “Why do you keep looking back?”

The swordsman turned around, shifting uncomfortably.

“Making sure no one is following us.”

“Ha! That would be inconceivable,” laughed the blonde.

The boat went silent again for a few minutes. The swordsman continued to glance back. Something was bothering him.

“Stop doing that!” the blonde sounded more exasperated than before.”You’re overthinking it. No one in Shiratorizawa knows what we’ve done, and no one in Aobajohsai could have gotten here so fast.”

“Are you sure nobody is following us?” insisted the swordsman.

“Like I said, that would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable.”

A long pause.

“Out of curiosity, why do you ask?” he added in.

“No reason,” the swordsman tried to play it off. “It’s only that I happened to look behind us and something is there.”

They all whirled.

There was indeed something there. Just a mile behind them, across the moonlight, was another sailing boat, small, with a giant sail that billowed black in the night, and a single man at the tiller. A man in black.

“Probably just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night, through eel-infested waters,” the blonde trailed off as he went, each word less confident than the last.

SPLASH!

They all whirled again, this time to see that you had thrown yourself straight into the Aoban Channel and were beginning to swim away.

“Go! Go in after her!” the blonde yelled.

“I can’t swim,” said the swordsman.

“I only doggy paddle,” said the giant.

You continued to leave them behind you. It wasn’t long before your arms began to tire, but you gave them no rest.

“Veer left!” instructed the blonde.

You ignored your kidnappers, but you couldn’t ignore the strange shrieking that began all around you. The sound made you stop and whipped around, looking for the source as you treaded water.

“Do you know what that sound is, your highness?” asked the blonde. The boat was getting closer again. “Those are the shrieking eels. If you don’t believe me, just wait. They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh!”

The screeching was growing louder, and if you looked closer into the water, you could see slimy tails flicking out the water all around you.

“Come back now,” the blonde went on, “and I promise when I kill you, you’ll die a painless death. I doubt you’ll get such an offer from the eels.”

They were shrieking wildly now, and they were whipping their heads out of the water. Their teeth were razor sharp, glinting in the moonlight, and the sight had you frozen in fear. When one came charging at you, there was quite literally nothing you could do but close your eyes and pray.

Fortunately for you, there was a giant on board of the boat you had just escaped from. He leaned over the edge of the boat, grabbed you by one arm, and hoisted you back to the safety onboard before the eel got you.

“Keep her warm,” the swordsman tossed his cloak to the giant.

“Don’t catch cold, miss,” said the giant, wrapping the cloak around you and holding you tight.

“It doesn’t seem to matter all that much,” your teeth chattered, “considering that you’re killing me at dawn.”

The blonde knelt in front of you and began binding your wrists together. The swordsman was shooting glances back again.

“I think he’s getting closer,” he said, in reference to the boat behind them.

“He’s no concern of ours! Sail on!” the blonde snapped once again. He sure was a grouchy fellow.

“I suppose you think you’re brave, Princess?” he now turned to you.

“Only compared to some,” you bit back.

The boat was approaching the Cliffs of Insanity now. They rose straight and sheer from the water, a thousand feet into the sky. They provided the most direct route between Aobajohsai and Shiratorizawa, but no one ever used them, sailing instead the long way around.

The swordsman maneuvered the watercraft up to the cliff face, and immediately the blonde jumped out and found a giant rope dangling from the cliffs. He tugged, once, twice, and it held firm; it must have been tethered to something at the top.

You watched in confusion as the trio got to work. The giant robed himself in some fancy harness, with loops hanging off every which way; the swordsman cinched you into one of the loops, before cinching himself in another. The blond took the last loop, practically nose-to-nose with the giant.

“All aboard.”

And with that, the giant began climbing the rope.

It was at least a thousand feet and he was carrying the three, but he was not worried. When it came to power, nothing worried him. When it came to reading or writing, he got terrible knots in his stomach, and when addition was mentioned or, worse, long division, he broke out in hives. But strength had never been his enemy. He could take the kick of a horse on his chest and not fall backward. He could take a hundred-pound flour sack between his legs and scissor it open without thinking.

But his real might lay in his arms. There had never, not in a thousand years, been arms to match Bokuto's. His arms were gargantuan and obedient and flashy, but most of all, they were tireless. If you gave him an ax and told him to chop down a forest, his legs might give out or the ax might shatter, but Bokuto's arms would be as fresh tomorrow as today.

And so, with the blonde around his neck and both the swordsman and the Princess both wrapped around his waist, Bokuto felt his most confident. It was only when he was requested to use his might did he not feel like a bother to everybody.

Hand over hand, arm over arm, Bokuto climbed. Three hundred feet over the water now, seven hundred left to go.

The blonde man was in fact afraid of heights, more than anything. But right now, he could not allow it.

Where he could not succeed with his body, he relied on his mind. He had fought it, trained it, forced it to heel. In moments like this, when he should have been trembling, it all paid off, because he was not trembling. Instead, he was thinking of the man in black.

There shouldn’t have been any way that someone could have been quick enough to follow them, and yet that billowing black sail had appeared. How? The blonde couldn’t find an answer, no matter how hard he tried. In wild frustration, he took a deep breath and, in spite of his terrible fears, he looked back down toward the dark water.

The man in black was there, tying off his boat at the base of the cliffs. With ease, he then leapt onto the rope and began to climb as well.

“He’s climbing the rope,” the swordsman commented.

“I can feel him,” said the giant.

“And he’s gaining on us.”

“Inconceivable,” the blonde blubbered, for when he looked down again, the man in black seemed to be flying up the rope. “Faster!”

“I thought I was going faster.”

“You were supposed to be this colossus,” the blonde grit his teeth, nose-to-nose with the giant again. “This great legendary thing! And yet, he gains.”

“Well, I’m carrying three people, and he’s only got himself.”

“I’ll just have to find myself a new giant then.”

“Awh, don’t say that Tsukki. Please?”

By now, the man in black had gained maybe 200 feet on them, but they were only maybe 150 feet from the tops of the cliffs.

Bokuto flew. He cleared his mind of everything but ropes and arms and fingers, and his arms pulled and his fingers gripped and the rope held taut as he flew.

“He’s halfway,” remarked the swordsman.

“It doesn’t matter, we’re but 50 feet from safety!”

Bokuto pulled—

Forty feet.

—And pulled—

Fifteen feet.

—And heaved them to the top.

And like that, it was over. Bokuto had done it. They had reached the top of the Cliffs, and first the blonde jumped off and ran to the rock the rope was tethered to. He pulled out a dagger and began slicing as fast as he could. He sliced and sliced, all the while the swordsman and the princess were untying themselves from the giant, until the rope snapped and whipped across the clifftop before disappearing to the depths below.

The other men peered over the cliffside curiously, until the swordsman mumbled, “He’s still there.”

“What?” the blonde came scurrying to the edge of the cliff. The man in black was hanging precariously to the cliff face. “He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!”

“You keep using that word,” the swordsman looked at the blonde. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

When they looked back, the man in black had begun climbing.

“Whoever he is, he’s clearly seen us with the princess and must therefore die!” cried the blonde. “Bokuto, carry the princess. We’ll head straight for the Shiratorizawa frontier. Akaashi, catch up when he’s dead. If he falls, fine, but if not, the sword.”

The swordsman nodded.

The blonde and the giant began hobbling away with you. Just before he was out of sight, the giant turned and hollered, “Catch up quickly!”

“Don’t I always?” the swordsman waved. “Farewell, Bokuto.”

“Farewell, Akaashi,” the giant replied, and then he was gone, and the swordsman was alone.

Akaashi moved to the cliff edge and knelt with his customary quick grace. One hundred and fifty feet below him now, the man in black continued his painful climb. It was becoming easier to see him, what with the sun starting to break. He was a good learner, so he had to study. Finally, he realized that somehow, by some mystery, the man in black was making fists and jamming them into the rocks, and using them for support as he climbed.

Akaashi marveled. What a truly extraordinary adventurer this man in black must be. He was close enough now for Akaashi to realize that the man was masked. Another outlaw? Perhaps. It was a shame that such a fellow must die though, but he had his orders, so there it was. Sometimes he did not like Tsukishima’s commands, but what could he do? Without the brains of the blonde, he wouldn’t be able to command jobs of this caliber. The blonde was a master planner. Akaashi was a creature of the moment.

There was nothing to do but wait for the man in black now. He was still a ways away, but Akaashi didn’t particularly like waiting. So to make the time more pleasant, he pulled from the scabbard his prized possession:

A six-fingered sword.

Oh, how it danced in the rising sun. Akaashi inspected it fondly, with all the fervor in his Fukurodanian heart, awaiting the arrival of the man in black.

[black-streak]

Little Pistol - Oops

Chapter 9

First Previous Next

Song by Vince Staples w/ Yugen Blakrok. It's from Black Panther, and while I'm aware Tim is often the pastiest bat, they asked for this when they mentioned Gotham in the lyrics and made it way too relatable to Tim's (here) and Jason's (canon) experience. Whoops. Also, I might've completely torn and sewn together bits of DC canon to my own liking because reasons.

This chapter is one of the few that was barely planned for. Um... Verbal abuse? Verbal abuse. Of a child. Mentions of neglect and abandonment.

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~---~

Jason had warned him it would happen far sooner than he'd like. Well joke's on him, any time was too soon. Too soon to see his own replacement. To see the person who was supposed to be his older brother but just turned out to be another person who'd abandoned him. Which is why he planned for this encounter. Planned for the moment they would corner him. Box him in. Take him down. Or at least, they would try to. Tim wasn't about to let that happen. He knew how to plan and evade and keep his cool with the best of them. Knew how to strategize and win against opponents that by all rights should be able to take him down without thought. How to use their emotion driven instincts to take them down. He'd done it hundreds of times with businessmen and rogues alike. A couple vigilantes wouldn't change that.

So he thought of every instance, every possibility, every reaction and planned accordingly. And how fitting he'd use this against them. After all, it was the one quality Bruce praised him on most. 

What he hadn't expected was to have Robin come across him alone. He'd thought of it, of course, but it had always seemed so unlikely with how much the new Batman mother birded the kid. 

Oh how wonderfully lucky he felt. Guess something had to go right in his life once in a while so the world could pretend it was balanced and good.

"Drake. I thought you might have the dignity to not be where you are unwanted.. I see you lost that as well," came the clipped, high pitched voice behind him. He had to give it to the kid, while lacking any sense of control, he had some skill. He reached up to turn off the comm link with Red Hood.

"Devin. If that is the standard for dignity, I suppose you never had any," Red Robin turned, a pleasant little smile staying firmly in place, "where's your babysitter, by the way? I thought you weren't allowed out after your bedtime?"

"It's Damian," the boy growled before turning cocksure, ignoring the last half of the comment, "or are you so dumb you can't even remember the name of the person who unseated you?"

"Funny, I thought it was you who struggled with names? Only seems fitting since you can't even say mine. Tell me, did you know that in many languages, addressing someone by their last name is a sign of respect?" He kept from grinning at the squawk of indignation he received, "You didn't deny never having dignity, so I'll assume I'm correct."

"I have more dignity in one pinky than you'll ever have," he failed to address the full sentence once more, but Red would allow it for now.

"I suppose you're right. You did make yourself disappear rather fast when it was made clear your mother and grandfather wanted nothing to do with you. Now if only you could take the hint now."

"You-" the kid started advancing, drawing his sword.

"Aww, poor baby, can't even fight with his words. Do you want to kill me because I'm right? Or because you know as long as I'm alive, you'll never be good enough?"

"I'm Robin! Batman chose me!" Red dodged a wild slash from the katana trained on him, carefully twisting out of the way but never fighting back, the same way he always had. The way Damian had come to expect by now. But he continued talking as they made their way around the rooftop, keeping the brat too angry to focus on technique.

"Yeah, a fake Batman. The real one had to die for you to be chosen. How does it feel to know your father didn't want you on the streets with him? That he didn't trust you. That he chose me over you every time?"

"Grayson was your brother and he chose me! You have no family," the attacks became more sporadic, angrier. Less in control.

"We don't share blood," despite the accuracy of the kid's words, he knew blood meant everything to Damian. And he knew how to use that against him. "My blood family is all dead. They can't be with me. Yours sent you away. Sent you to a father who didn't want you either. And when Bruce died, yours still wouldn't take you back," Red kept dodging, taking note of how the strikes lost all rhyme or reason as the boy lost words and started only letting out frustrated sounds, "Did you know Ras wants me as an heir? Has made so many offers and attempts to take me in? Your grandfather is so desperate to be my family, meanwhile he couldn't get rid of you fast enough. I wonder how that must feel? To know the only person who wants you is a man who only pities you?"

Right as a slash almost made contact, he drew his bow staff, deflecting the hit and disarming Robin in two perfect moves. It took him only a moment to pin the kid to the gravel beneath them.

"I'm Robin! I earned it!" Screamed from below.

Lowering his mouth to one ear, he spoke with quiet calm, only upsetting Damian further, "You are Robin. And you know why? Because Robin is a position given to those who have nothing left to cling to. Who need direction and commands to keep intact. It was never given to me. I took Robin because I wanted to. It was given to you because Dick saw how pathetically in need of it you were."

"I almost killed you, you weren't worthy," he argued, struggling against the pin.

"You only ever won because I let you. Because I never fought back. Because I knew Bruce wouldn't want me to. Now there's no one stopping me. You were never better than me. If you were, someone would love you."

The body below pushed and pushed and struggled until finally it settled down, angry tears glistening in the night.

"Run home, little Robin. You're unwanted here," he let go and watched the kid scramble up and away, straight into Red Hood. Launching backwards, Robin took one look at the crossed arms and tilted head of the bigger man and turned tail off the roof.

"How'd you manage to get that reaction out of the demon brat?" Hood asked as he picked his way over the where Red still crouched.

"He's useless when he lets his emotions get the best of him. Just had to hit the right buttons," he shrugged, pretending it was not a big deal. Like he hadn't verbally torn up a twelve year old just for being right.

"He got under your skin, didn't he?"

Grimacing, he stood and made way to the other's side, "You didn't hear, did you?"

"No," he admitted.

"I reacted to his words only in that I adjusted accordingly. Nothing was said in the heat of the moment on my part," he assured.

Sighing, Hood clapped him on the shoulder once, "If you say so. Let's call it a night, eh?"

"Yeah…"

[classysassy9791]

When a job goes terribly wrong, the Fairy Tail guild is left to pick up the pieces. Mourning the deaths of their guildmates, Lucy can't seem to find the strength to move forward. But she comes to realize one person understands. His madness was her mercy, and she finally began to hope that maybe he could make her heart beat again.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Adventure/Tragedy Warning: Character Death(s) Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l

Chapter 3 Word Count: 3,100 Can also be found here

I give up on editing this anymore so here it is

.

.

.

The first thing Juvia noticed upon entering the guildhall that morning was that Gray was nowhere to be found. More often than not, he arrived earlier than she, prompting a touch of concern as to where the ice-make mage could be. He had taken a job the day before, so there was a chance he could be sleeping in after arriving home late.

The second thing she noticed was the hum of electricity among her fellow guildmates. They gathered at the tables closest to the stage, everyone murmuring amidst themselves. Knitting her brows with worry, the bluenette weaved her way over to where Wendy sat.

“Good morning, Wendy,” she greeted the young girl with a small smile. “Why is everyone so lively?”

With a drained look she offered, “Hello, Juvia,” before dropping her gaze to the floor. “I-I guess you haven’t heard yet.”

Blue eyes glanced between her and Charle, who perched beside her with a hollow expression. “Hear what?”

“Well, Team Natsu went on a mission yesterday and-”

Her heart missed a beat, terrifying worst-case scenarios coming to her mind with Gray’s absence. “Where’s Gray?” Juvia demanded anxiously. “Has he returned?”

Wendy quickly nodded, setting her panic at ease. “Yeah, he came home. He’s in the infirmary right now. I’m not sure what happened, but he and Lucy were hurt pretty bad.”

Her eyes shifted distractedly over to the hallway leading to their clinic. “Maybe Juvia should go check on him.”

“Absolutely not,” a woman interrupted before she could scamper off to his side. Porlyusica suddenly appeared with her ever present scowl. “He needs to rest. Leave him be.”

“O-Oh… Ah… right,” Juvia stammered, feeling a blush come to her cheeks. She still felt anxious, but knew better than to question the elder woman’s words. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn fool.”

The water mage breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Hey, you guys!” Levy called as she bounced over, Team Shadowgear hot on her heels.

“Oh, good morning,” Wendy greeted.

“What happened last night?” the solid-script mage asked, concerned lines creasing her brow as she took note of their medicinal advisor. “Jet told me he had to fetch Porlyusica.”

“Gray and Lucy were badly injured,” Juvia explained. “What happened is still unclear.”

“Cana didn’t offer an explanation either when she came to get me,” Jet said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her so sober.”

Levy fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously, giving Wendy a questioning glance. “Is Lu okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” she affirmed with a small nod. “They both just need some rest for now.”

“What’s everyone buzzin’ about?” Gajeel questioned as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes peeled on the rest of the guildhall. “Ain’t like them this early in the morning.”

Panther Lily hopped onto the table next to Charle. “We’re usually never here this early,” he pointed out.

“Master wants to make an announcement.” Cana strolled over, her customary barrel of alcohol propped against her hip and a soft warmth blooming upon her cheeks. “It’s not good.”

“Why do you say that?” Levy asked.

“I saw Lucy and Gray come in last night. It was pretty bad.”

“You don’t think something terrible happened, do you?” Wendy fiddled with her hands anxiously.

Gajeel folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t they go on a mission with Salamander?”

“Yeah, along with Erza and Happy.” Levy’s hazel eyes quickly scanned their gathered guildmates. “But I haven’t seen either of them all morning.”

“The Thunder Legion was sent out, too,” Cana mumbled. “This doesn’t sit well with me.”

The guildhall suddenly hushed as Makarov entered the room, climbing up onto the stage in order to be better seen and heard. Mirajane stood beside him, but her usual cheerful smile had been replaced by a deep frown. Her eyes were rimmed red and her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent to everyone that she had been crying. Levy exchanged an anxious glance with those beside her.

Their master cleared his throat, his eyes noticeably misty. “My heart is heavy today,” he began, his voice thick with tears. “I come to you not as your guild master, but as a member of the family we hold dear. Unfortunately, in this world, not everything can be fixed, no matter how much we wish it could.”

Dread had Levy’s stomach locked up tight and her teeth clenched together.

The room fell eerily silent. “Yesterday, our strongest team went on a mission to capture bandits in Freesia. But demons from the books of Zeref blindsided them.”

Levy swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. It became hard to breathe. Where was Erza, Natsu, and Happy? Why weren’t they there?

“It is with a broken heart that I tell you some of our family did not make it home alive.”

“N-No,” Levy whispered, her hands muffling the gasp that escaped as tears welled in her eyes. Loud murmurs of disbelief rang out across the guild, fear building in a frenzy as everyone turned wide eyes to their master.

He paused for a moment to reel in his emotions as Mirajane quietly broke down sobbing beside him. “Natsu, Erza, and Happy all died in battle. They were our beloved family and fought bravely to instill the protection of those we hold dear.”

The news passed through the guild like a hurricane. Levy’s mind was laid waste by it, the desolation she felt all consuming. She suddenly felt weak in the knees, falling backwards onto a bench. Cana dropped her alcohol, causing the contents to spill onto the floor. The room filled with hysterical crying, the screaming sobs molding together to form one.

“T-Tom Cat…?” she heard Charle whisper from beside her, a choked sob escaping Wendy’s lips.

Gajeel clenched his hands into fists, wide eyes staring as he tried to comprehend the master’s words. “S-Salamander? No way…”

Levy cried as if her brain was being shredded from the inside. From her mouth came a cry so raw that Gajeel bent down to pull her to his chest, running shaky fingers through her hair. She curled her hands around his shirt so she could find some gravity with her violent shaking. The whole world vanished for her. Now there was only pain enough to break her - to break them - pain enough to change them all beyond recognition.

“My children!” Makarov cried out above the noises of desolation.

The screams quieted to soft, choked sobs, as they all turned blurry vision toward him. Each of their expressions begged him to have the answers as to how this had happened… as to how they were supposed to endure such a loss.

He looked over each and every one of them, his own tears falling down his cheeks. “Y-You’re going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. That I can promise. But first, you have to let it all in. You can’t fight it; it’s bigger than you. You have to let yourself drown in it, but then, eventually, you’ll start to swim. And every single breath that you fight for will make you stronger. And I promise you, you’ll beat this! We all will!”

“How the hell did this happen?!” Macao called out angrily. “How?!”

Makarov shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the details. Thank Mavis that Gray and Lucy were both brought back home alive. They’re in the infirmary recovering thanks to Wendy and Porlyusica.”

Levy squeezed her eyes shut, listening as Gajeel mumbled incoherent phrases, as Juvia cried for a queen, and Wendy sobbed for a fellow dragon slayer. She took in everything, feeling as if a weight pressed on her chest, and she was drowning in her own tears.

Their master wiped his hand under his nose like a child. “I have postponed any job requests for the time being. With the jewels we received from the Games, I will cover all expenses until further notice. Do not break alone, my children. We are a family, and we will get through this together - as a family.”

Within the mess of emotions surrounding her, Levy repeated Makarov’s news over and over again in her mind.

Natsu… Erza… Happy… dead…

Lucy… Gray… alive…

And then her eyes opened wide.

Lucy…!

...

Lucy felt emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped her mind in swirling blackness. She peeked out from beneath her covers and looked at Gray with eyes filled with anguish. He was sitting up, his gaze trained on the window, as he had been for the past two hours.

Reluctantly, once he had woken up and questioned what had happened, she had given him the news of their friends’ deaths. He had yelled out in denial, refusing to believe her, but as she replayed their final moments out on the battlefield as Virgo and Loke appeared, reality started to set in.

Since then, he had clammed up. He had sobbed - she had never seen him so vulnerable - and then he went silent. He now stared vacantly out at the sunrise, as if searching for something.

About an hour ago, she had heard all the commotion coming from the main hall and knew the rest of the guild had been told the news. The door creaked open, catching Lucy’s attention. She glanced over her covers to see a petite young woman with blue hair peek her head in.

“Lu…?” she whispered hesitantly.

The blonde debated if she wanted to see her friend, or if she would rather pretend to be asleep so she could be left alone. Thinking better of it, she pulled the blanket off of her face. “Hey, Levy,” she replied softly.

Levy stepped over, her hands clenched in front of her as if to keep them from trembling. Her cheeks were red and blotchy from crying. “Oh, Lucy…”

Her words were so tender and full of sympathy, that Lucy felt tears welling in her eyes all over again. “He-He’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking. “They’re all gone.”

Lucy’s body began to shake with her sobs, the sound breaking free from her throat, savage and raw. Levy pushed away the covers and slid into the bed next to her. She wrapped her arms around her friend, running her fingers through her golden-spun hair, and whispered soothing words to help calm her shattered heart.

Sometime during it all, Juvia came to Gray’s bedside, reaching out a trembling hand around his own. “Gray…?” she whispered.

His only response was to pull away, ignoring her presence completely. The desolation he felt consumed him, his mind became an icy wasteland; the wind howled in his soul and wrapped icy tentacles around his heart so tightly, it almost stopped beating.

And faintly, he realized, it had begun to rain.

...

Sitting alone at the Fairy Tail guildhall, Cana took a swig from her glass and waited for the effects to kick in. She waited. And waited. But the numb feeling inside her didn’t wane.

The quiet of the guildhall made her blood run as cold as Fiore’s winters. It was as if nature conspired against her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. Echoes of boisterous voices spun through her mind, of a lively guild filled with fistfights and magic.

Now, there was only silence.

It gnawed at her insides, hanging in the air like the suspended moment before falling glass shattered on the ground. Like a gaping void. It needed to be filled with sounds, words, anything.

The main door creaked open and she heard soft footsteps echo in the empty guildhall. Mirajane walked over to Cana, giving her a weak smile, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. “I thought I’d find you here.” Her blue eyes, which were usually so bright and kind, had dulled to an opaque grey. They were puffy, but her tears had finally dried up.

The card mage tilted her head in acknowledgement, taking another long gulp. “Where else is there to be?”

Humming her agreement, the eldest Strauss sibling slipped behind the bar for a glass to fill from the tap, and joined Cana in a drink. Once the news of what had happened had sunk in, everyone had dispersed to find their own way of grieving.

“I used to complain about how loud the guild was. All the fighting and the music and the people non-stop talking,” Cana said, her voice brittle as if she were about to cry. “Now, it’s too quiet. I’d give my right arm to hear Natsu start a fight or for Erza to end it, or for Happy to make another of his snarky comments.”

Blue eyes peered wistfully over the darkened guildhall, memories of their childhood revolving through her mind. Over a decade had passed since the first of them had stumbled into Fairy Tail. Even after all they had been through at such a young age, they had still been so innocent as to what lay ahead. “It’s a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment, everything you hold dear can be altered forever.”

Cana gripped her glass tighter. “It all just feels like a bad joke.”

“I don’t think the universe is kidding this time.” She didn’t need to voice aloud the circumstances regarding Lisanna’s death. Her body had disappeared in a glitter of golden light. This time, there was no mistake that Natsu, Erza, and Happy were gone. Mirajane took a sip of her drink thoughtfully, swirling the alcohol around in her mouth, relishing in the burn before swallowing.

Cana raised a brow suspiciously. “Since when do you drink?”

“Since I woke up yesterday and never imagined the day would end this badly.” The barmaid shrugged, silver hair a mess and her eyes sad. “I always thought there were bad days, but not in the way most people think, you know? I think… I think really bad days happen when everything seems to be going wrong, and you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up. Because clearly, the world is out to get you.”

Tears welling in her eyes, Cana held up her glass. “To really, really bad days, then.”

They drank quietly as the shadows grew darker and it wasn’t until after nightfall that they realized something.

As it turned out, a person couldn’t drink away the silence.

...

Every breath was an implosion.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed with no strength to move. Her shaky fingers finally came to a stop after running restlessly through her messy hair. She bit down on her lip trying not to burst into tears. It wasn’t going to help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Night had fallen, causing everyone to leave the guild. Juvia had fallen asleep in a chair, her head resting on Gray’s bed, but Lucy had persuaded Levy to go home. Brown eyes lifted to look at her teammate, lip quivering.

“Gray…?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

“Don’t.” The word was deliberate, and sharper than knives. He didn’t even bother to face her, instead lying on his side with his back toward her.

Lucy glanced away, feeling as if she had been slapped. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the events of the day leaving her feeling hollow. “You don’t get to do this,” she muttered, clenching her hands into fists.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Just don’t. I don’t want to hear you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

Gray had woken up hours ago with the bitter taste of ash in his mouth and the grit of building caked into his skin. Somehow, before Lucy had replayed the events of the battle for him, he had known it was over. A part of him really knew. People always say they thought they would know if someone close to them had died. Maybe it was true. Because something inside him had broken on that day, and he knew it was over.

Grief felt like emptiness in his heart, a sheer of nothingness that somehow took over and held his soul, threatening to kill him entirely. It gave him this heavy feeling that was like the weight of the world sat on his chest.

He knew grief very well.

He felt it when Ur looked back at him, her body becoming the infamous iced-shell, as she gave her life for his. “I want Lyon to discover the world; Gray, you too, of course. You don’t have to be sad,” she had told him with a smile. “I’m alive. I’m eternally alive as ice. Step into the future. I’ll seal your darkness.”

He felt it when Ultear had given years of her life to give him one more minute of his, changing his fate entirely - her elderly face, tilted with lips pulled up, a shake of her head, wordlessly telling him it was okay.

And he felt it when Erza turned her back to him, scarlet hair shimmering in the fire’s glow; her armor cracked, her swords drawn. “I made a promise! I told Ultear I would look after you,” she had shouted back to him, facing the demon head-on as he lay bleeding. “And I never break a promise!” Even though by then she was already dying, she fought on. She was drenched to the core in blood and yet she fought on. She fought on until she collapsed and could fight no more. And then with the crack of bones, she was gone.

Why?!

Why did every woman he had ever learned to care for decide that his life was worth more than theirs? Why was he always the one left behind to mourn, to feel the guilt of their deaths?

It wasn’t fair, dammit!

“Please… Gray…”

Lucy’s voice drew him from his thoughts and he glanced down to see he had wrapped the sheets tight in his fist, turning his knuckles white. He closed his eyes, but she somehow knew he was listening.

“We-We have their blood on our hands… Tell me it’s going to be okay. Promise me it’s going to be alright,” she cried meekly. “Tell me we have a reason to be here when they aren’t.”

He was silent for a moment, turning his hardened gaze to the dark sky outside. “I can’t.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to come up with any response.

[fallinnflower]

forsaken

minghao x reader (demon!hao, drama, historical!au)

wc: 1.6k

a/n: so i used a prompt generator and then went overboard but if you’re curious the prompt was: 400 words + demon + electricity + “I will remember this” + shipwreck

Day One

You wake up on an unfamiliar shore, still tucked beneath the bench of the small wooden lifeboat where you had fallen asleep God knows how long ago. The sound of the wood scraping against the sand is what wakes you, and for a moment you lie in dazed confusion staring at the sun-bleached wood before you realize just what it is you’re hearing. Land.

The world pitches and darkens as you sit up too quickly, but you manage to scramble out of the boat onto shore, slowly dragging it along with you until you’re far enough from the tide’s reach. After days without food or adequate water, the effort exhausts you, and so you flip the lifeboat over and prop it up on a rock just enough for you to shimmy beneath it for shelter before falling asleep once again.

Day Three

There is no sunlight on the island, at least none that reaches you. The overcast days bleed into starless nights, however the clouds don’t seem to speak of an impending storm, merely a shroud enveloping the island.

You start a fire, just barely, and wander through the flora to find anything even remotely edible, praying each night that it won’t be your last.

Day Seven

With renewed strength comes renewed consciousness, and in the darkness and stillness of the island your mind replays the horrific events which led to your arrival. You hear the screams of your friends; the sound of your sails whipping untethered in the wind; wood splintering violently. Desperate feet on the rain-slick wood, too slow to outrun the falling debris. You can still smell the blood in the water, even when you tuck your nose into the crook of your elbow, like you’re right there again.

God has forsaken you, and you know it now. After taking away your crewmates in one fell swoop he’s forgotten you, discarded you. Left you to sink like your ship in the dark.

The thunder rumbles in the night as though laughing at your plight, as though in agreeance with you, and you don’t sleep.

Day Ten

Desperation sets in. You can see yourself wearing away, the bones on the back of your hand protruding, joints knobby and red. Hunger makes it hard to hunt makes it impossible to eat makes you hungrier. You’re desperate.

The sky darkens in the evening but you see no stars, and you stare out at the ink-black water and imagine it swallowing you whole as it eagerly laps at the shore, creeping ever closer. The wind tugs at your hair, your tattered clothes, and with your jaw clenched tight you crouch in the sand and begin to dig.

First, a circle, a deep trench that the wind won’t merely blow away. The grit sticks beneath your fingernails and scratches, tears at the delicate skin there until it bleeds, and yet you continue, the pain fueling you. With the circle’s completion you hesitate a moment, and a rumble of thunder seems to accompany the shiver that runs down your spine as you contemplate what you’re about to do. Or, what you intend to do.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath. What is faith to you now? This is a last ditch effort, you remind yourself, this is about survival. In your mind you can picture the summoning circle, an image you’d found both frightening and fascinating. You hear the crack of thunder once again, louder, and jump slightly, losing your balance. With your hands placed in the center of the circle to steady you, you see a long shadow cast over you when the lightning finally strikes, the smell of sulfur in the air making your stomach churn.

“Well, aren’t you going to finish the job?”

Day Eleven

You wake up on the beach, the circle you had drawn in the sand half-destroyed due to your sleeping over top of it. Your heart jumps wildly as you remember the shadow, the voice, and you will yourself to calm down — it was only a dream, a figment of your dehydrated and starved consciousness —

“Aren’t you at least going to tell me what you want?”

You shoot up into a seated position, flinging sand every which way. The voice appears to have come from a man who’s sitting on top of your lifeboat, one long leg crossed over the other, dark hair ruffled in the breeze. He tilts his head at you, a smile gracing his lips but pure, crackling fire in his gaze. His eyes are sharp, poised above high cheekbones, and the arch of his eyebrows scream condescension as he sizes you up. The hair that flops in loose waves and curls across his forehead is the blackest you’ve ever seen, like a void. When you don’t reply, simply staring agape at him, the corners of his mouth twitch up further, though there’s no kindness in his voice when he speaks again,

“It’s very impolite to fall asleep in front of your guest, you know.” 

You struggle for words, consonants and vowels falling aimlessly from your lips as the lithe man stands and stretches in the same lazy manner as a cat, his dark gaze pinned on you all the while. As he begins to walk you feel as though you’re being circled by a predator, watching as he slinks around you in his black attire like a—

“Panther.”

The man stops in his tracks, cocks his head to one side, and then laughs. The sound sends chills down your spine, makes you go rigid. You watch as he composes himself once again, nonchalantly flicking some hair out of his eyes, before pinning you with his gaze once again.

“A panther,” he muses, practically purring. Despite the velvet smoothness of his tone you continue to feel unnerved. “That’s new. I’ll remember that.” 

There’s a sudden flash of lightning, and then he’s right in front of you, merely a hair's breadth away. You swear you see the electric current in his eyes, crackling like heat lighting, and you hold your breath.

“But, sadly, you’re wrong,” he says, though he sounds anything but sorry. “And I think you know exactly what I really am. So, why don’t you tell me what you want, hm?” A chill seems to descend upon you, and you shrink back into yourself slightly, trying desperately not to tremble. 

“I-I—”

“Don’t be shy,” he coos, but you can see the impatience growing within him. “Just tell me what you want. Go on.”

Although neither of you move you swear you can feel a pressure bearing down on you, making it hard to breathe, and it’s only through such desperation that you finally find your voice,

“I want to go home!” You close your eyes in fear, but the oppressive weight retreats as the tall man, the demon you summoned, chuckles darkly.

“See, was that so hard?” When you open your eyes you find him standing casually in front of you, and he leans down with a smile, offering you his hand. Although you know you shouldn’t, you feel drawn to accept his gesture, like Aurora to the spindle, and so you slip your rough, calloused hand into his. His palm and fingers are smooth and cold, and to your surprise he helps you up casually, his smile almost friendly.

But then the pain begins. You scream, trying to pull your hand from his to no avail; he merely watches with a placid grin on his face as the flesh in the center of your palm burns in a perfect circle along with his. Between the two new wounds electricity flows, illuminating the demon’s face wickedly, and you can’t do anything but weep as the searing pain continues. When the light dies away the demon pulls back his hand, smiling despite the way both your palms continue to smoke. You clutch yours to your chest, dropping to your knees in the sand. 

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he says after a moment, and when you look up you realize he’s dragged your lifeboat back out from the trees. 

“I— aren’t you supposed to take me home?” you ask, still clutching your hand, and he laughs.

“I’m not, but this will. It might take another day or so, but you’ll be home, just like we agreed. Go on, get in.”

After a moment, you simply do as he says, exhaustion washing over you. Once you take your seat you notice its improved condition and a small pile of fruit tucked away in a bag beneath the bench. 

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“Well, I can’t have you arriving dead. You haven’t upheld your part of the deal yet.” You turn your head to look at the demon, but he merely holds your gaze calmly.

“You mean—?”

“You’ll be seeing me again, very soon,” he says, his grin widening. “Your soul is no good now, but I’ll come to collect, don’t worry.” His fingers curl around the edge of the boat and he leans towards you, his beautiful face marred by his cruel grin,

“And if you should be in need of me, you may call me Minghao.” 

With that, he gives the boat a shove, sending you with frightful speed into the waves. You clutch the underside of the bench so hard you’re sure you’ll find splinters in your fingers, but when you turn back towards the shore you find only the dark expanse of the sea behind you and a streak of heat lightning disappearing in the clouds above, a spark seeming to shoot straight through your palm. 

And one word seems to ring through your head, echoing like a death knell: forsaken.

[kimberly-spirits13]

Moroccan Outlaw

Pairing (Bart Allen x reader)

Synopsis: Living in the wilderness of Morocco by yourself after your parents were killed for witch craft, you fight to survive with everything that you have learned of magic and the myth that now surrounds your name. You think that your life will never change of this endless cycle until one day, a certain team comes to your dwelling to investigate strange news of something powerful lurking in the forest. That is when your life changes forever.

Warnings: None

     You had never considered yourself a threat to anyone or anything that wasn’t a threat to you. You nor your parents had ever meant anyone any harm, however the world is a cruel one and doesn’t take lightly to things that it does not understand or take the time to adapt to. At the age of 7, your parents were taken and burned after being found out they were practitioners of witchcraft and magic. They had both come from a long line of magic users and taught you everything that they knew, including the combat that your father had picked up while serving in the army during his time. The only thing that you had of them now was a few books of magic, a few charms, and faint memories that haunted your dreams at night.

           The town considered you a myth, a legend, and even an outlaw. At just the age of 8, you had learned what it took to survive in these rare conditions and kept to yourself, avoiding people at almost all costs. Tonight, was a full moon. This was the most significant time of the lunar phases because it was when the most powerful book of spells that your parents had left you gained even more spells and charms to use. You had opted to stay in your house and practice the spells that you would be gifted. Well, if it could even be considered a house. The place that you lived was like a three- story tree house over a wide stream. It was in a smaller clearing but still high enough up that no passerby would see it. There you and your panther, Onyx would live out your lives.

           It was a normal day waiting for the spells and nothing in the world was happening to your knowledge outside of the usual mess of things. Well, at least that it what you thought.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Team, there has been a sudden disturbance in a sector of the forests of Morocco. It is thought to be magic with the level of power and magnitude that it emitted, however we cannot know for sure.” Nightwing informed the team, “We need to find out who or what this is and see who’s side it’s on.”

           The only ones who weren’t on a mission right now was Nightwing, Blue Beatle, Impulse, Beast Boy, and Robin. Everyone else was either off or on mission assigned earlier. They got into the ship and headed off to Morocco to investigate whatever was going on.

_______________________________________________________________________

           You settled in on your cot next to Onyx and watched as the sun started to set. Everything was going as planned. You had your herbal tea next to you and your spell book in your lap just like all the nights before. Everything was calm and peaceful until the magic sensors that you had put around your dwelling picked on a low flying craft. Onyx’s ears pricked up as you listened closely.

           Hearing it get closer and then the sound stopping made you go on high alert. You walked to your table and summoned a looking spell to see what on Earth was going on. You saw nothing at first, but upon further investigation, you found that the ship was shielded with invisibility tech.

           “Interesting.” You thought, “Tell me who these people are.” You said after seeing a few figured jumping out.

           “Heroes?” You thought aloud, “I wonder what they’re doing here.” “Onyx, it’s time to go for a hunt.”

           Onyx’s ears pricked up and he stood, walking to your side. Sliding on your combat boots and gloves, you stepped out of the shelter and traveled by the trees to where the ship was, not too far away. You observed them from a distance, sticking to the shadows and staying out of site along with your panther who was circling the group.

           “Nightwing, I feel like we’re being watched.” The smaller one with a cape and jet -black hair said to who looked to be the oldest.

           “I know what you mean.” Nightwing replied, “Just keep your guard up and...” He stopped dead in his tracks, “Impulse, don’t move a muscle.”

           Everyone started at Impulse as he stopped, noticeably frightened at Nightwing’s command. They looked around until seeing a massive black cat staring at them from a small clearing like it was about to pounce. Then they all saw what Nightwing really was pointing out. A snake was coiled up in front of Impulse waiting for him to take a step closer. All of them were startled when you spoke up.

           “Down Onyx.” You said in Arabic.

           The panther went into a resting stance and didn’t pounce at the team but you on the other hand came into few after a few seconds of moving in the shadows.

           You then stared at the snake, eyes gleaming red before it contracted and looked straight at her hissing. After a second it had been ripped apart and withered away with the wind.

           “You know you really should be more careful hero.” Your magic swirled from your fingers before disappearing once more, “The floor of these jungles move with life.”

           You jumped down to the ground, leaning on a massive boulder, “Who are you? Quickly, before I have Onyx sick you.”

           “We’re part of the Justice League.” The leader with a blue and black suit and domino mask said, “I’m Nightwing, this is Robin, Impulse, Blue Beatle, and Beast Boy.”

           “What is your business?” You demanded.

           “We are here to investigate a surge of energy. Now I can assume that you were that energy surge. We’re here to take you somewhere where you’ll be safer and away from all of this.” He finished.

           You smirked some at how hopeful he sounded. That was something that you had learned not to trust over the years. Hope was a delusion and something to pity for all who really relied on it.

           “I’ll come. But only if you can catch me.” You smirked, lifting your index finger which started swirling with glittering red and purple smoke before your body was completely engulfed in it and you reappeared in the tree tops.

           “Base.” You said to Onyx before starting off away from where the team was.

           “Catch her.” Nightwing said as they all started to go after her in preassigned teams.

           After some time of losing the team, you stopped on a branch and rested for a second.

           “Watcha doin up there?” You heard from below. You smiled some when you saw Impulse.

           “Becoming quite bored of this endeavor.” You said.

           “Well then, allow me to entertain you malady.” He darted up the tree fast enough to not give you time to react, “Gotcha.” He smirked grabbing you.

           “Please, can’t a girl play hard to get?” You said before disappearing once more, “Over here lover boy.” You waved from a different tree.

           “Impulse, Y/N is a witch, take her to the starting point and we’ll give her a dose of some white light.” Nightwing said into the comm before Impulse was about to take off after her again.

           “Got it wing.” He replied.

           Impulse chased you to the starting point before you noticed what was happening. You went to turn around before Blue Beetle shot a beam of white light at you. With somewhat of a mix of a screech and scream, you fell off the branch that you were on and plummeted to the forest floor.

           “I got her!” Impulse said going for you.

           After a few seconds, you regained your senses and looked around before meeting his gaze. Rubbing your temples you spoke up, “Thank you.” You got out of his arms and brushed yourself off.

           “No problem beautiful.” He said smiling at you as he got a good look at your figure.

           Your skin glimmered in the moon light, contrasting against the dark red and black costume. Your now purple and gold eyes shinned in the moon light as you swept your hair out of your face.

           “I don’t even know you name.” You said feeling weird that this random costumed person would just chase you down only to save you.

           “Oh, I’m Bart, Bart Allen. That is presuming you’re coming with us.” He said.

           “Y/N, Y/L/N.” You replied putting your hand out for what you thought would be shaking hands. Instead he took yours and kissed the top of it like he was trying to either be a gentleman or funny. You couldn’t decide which one it was.

           “So, you’re coming with us?” Nightwing asked.

           “Yes, well, that is as long as I can grab my panther and my books.” You said, “Trust me, it won’t be long.”

           He nodded and you chanted a spell before the entire contents of your home was in a small box and your panther walked up next to you. He wasn’t that big and would never get that big which is why your parents wanted you to have him.

           You sat next to Impulse and watched the forest fade out of view. Your home was now a tiny speck in the great big world, and you figured that you’d never see it again whether you wanted to or not.

           “Have you ever been outside of your home?” Impulse asked you noticing the weary look on your face.

           You shook your head, “Never.” “My parents always hid me away in fear that I would also be... well, executed with them if we were ever caught with magic.”

           “I’m sorry.” He said giving a sympathetic look at taking your hand, “You’ll like it at the cave, trust me.”

           “I’m sure I will.” You said as Onyx laid his head on your lap.

______________________________________________________________________________

           *Narrator voice* A few months later

           “Hey babe.” Bart said kissing your cheek.

           “You missed Speedster.” You said before he pulled you into an actual kiss.

           “Watcha reading?” He asked laying his head on your shoulder.

           “Spell book, tonight’s a full moon so it got new spells a few minutes ago.” You answered.

           “Could we cuddle?” He asked you.

           “Will you still let me read?” You asked.

           “Mhmm.” He answered.

           “Okay.” You picked up your book and the both of you walked to your bedroom with Onyx who was tailing you.

           The both of you curled up on your bed while Onyx jumped to the foot of it and laid down. Wrapping into the blankets, Bart laid his head on your thy and rubbed circles on your hips.

           “I love you.” You said.

           “I love you too Y/N/N.”

[stardancerluv]

Is Immortality the Ultimate Gift?

Part 4

Summary: Being together finally makes things interesting

Warning: voilence (gun shot, ripping a heart out) , harsh language,

As your eyes locked, a smirk curled his lips. “Let’s go then and rip her heart out.”

Over the course, of your existence you had only ever wanted to go back to your human life. The way things had been. As you looked right back, into those dark blue eyes, things would never go back to those days. He would always be a ghoul and you vampire, yet excitement filled you. The two of you were on a cusp of a new and fresh start.

Your absolute attraction to him had a strong pull on you. The stench that surrounded him, didn’t diminish your want, your desire to lay with him as you had when the two of you were mere mortals.

“Thomas, I will go and change.”

His eyes traveled the length of you and he did not move to get out of your way.

“What’s wrong with this outfit?”

“I was thinking after we get rid of her, perhaps we could celebrate.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

******

Looking, through the rows of clothes, you could remember a time when you had hid behind a screen because you had been shy to undress in front of Thomas. Now, you knew he was there watching. You enjoyed it, additionally the feel of his emotions as he watched you was pleasing. As you slipped on the dress you finally decided on and pulled on the boots you turned to him.

“Thomas, how did Alywin heal you?” He looked taken back that you knew he had been there. Going, over to your hands gently on him, his body cool under the white t-shirt. “Now, that I know how your presence feels, I’ll never forget it.” That appeared to make him feel better.

Taking a hold of your hands he looked at them, his thumbs caressing your palms. “They are still so small and so delicate.”

You smiled. “I never stopped being as delicate as any flower, only difference is now I am as strong as a panther”

He looked down at you playfully. “I want to feel that strength.” One of fingers caressed the hollow of your throat. These lingering touches were doing something to you.

“We’ll see if you can take it.” You challenged as equally playful. You were already enjoying the strength he’s showed you.

*****

Starting the engine, looking he merged and began driving towards the flat. “You had so sweetly, distracted.” He easily smiled at you as he drove down the darkened streets. “Alywin, healed me with his blood.”

“His blood?”

“Yeah, sometimes he just prick his skin and a mere drop would heal whatever scrap I got myself into.”

“What did you do to yourself?”

“Too many things when I thought I killed you.” He stopped at the red light, the turn signal clicking. “There were nights, when I was struggled to survive or even wanting to. I would stick to the shadows of dark, rain soaked alleyways.” He turned down the street. “Sometimes, all I could do to survive was eating the corpses the black death. Half hoping, that someone would catch me munching away on the horribly disease twisted bodies.”

You made a face.

“In those days, I had really hoped one would find me and burn me at the stake. I would be free of the pain knowing it my blood that killed you, my beloved.” He reached out and gave you a squeeze.

“Thomas.” All could do was say his name. You could not even imagination what he had gone through.

******

You took, his hands and held it to your cheek. “Things will be different now.” You whispered.

“Since, we’re together I know they will be.” He parked the car and cut the engine. “I have a plan.” He smirked. “Follow my lead, ok lambkin?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Reaching, into his pocket he grimaced at you, and put on the leather thong back on. His heart began to be a little harder. He caressed your cheek with his knuckles. “I am looking forward to celebrating.”

He led, you up the back steps. Halfway, up you stopped. He turned to you. “Are you ok?”

Concern, like a gray storm came over him. What if his blood now, as ghoul was making you sick.

“Yes.” You nodded. “Just thinking what else I should do to her.”

“I like the sound of that.” He smiled.

Continuing, up the stairs he still couldn’t believe how it felt when you nipped him or seeing the sight of your fangs. Something, about it was incredibly exciting. It did something to him.

Eagerness, filled him. He was happy to finally be rid of Cammy, he had really gone tired of her. You

They were outside the flat, when he took his keys out. “Stay as close as possible.”

“Alright.” You whispered.

Once, the door was opened, he called out. “Cammy?” He could hear the shower turning off. “Cammy?”

******

You were happy for Thomas to take the lead, you looked up at the building, before he opened the backdoor. Your body, was still a tingle from when you nipped him. In all these years, that had never happened to you. Killing, this screecher was going to....

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Barked, Jimmy Picket, in your head. All other thoughts shattering.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought you hated ghouls.” You snarled.

He chuckled darkly in your head. “She’s a cute piece of ass, she was fun to fuck.”

You mentally rolled your eyes. “I am here to kill her.”

“Oh, let me guess. You took him on and don’t want to deal with her.”

“Exactly. I am a one ghoul kind of vamp.” You chuckled.

“No fun. I can take her on if you want.” You could feel his smugness come off of him in waves. “If one things ghouls are good for is sex.” You could feel as he shrugged. “Let him fuck you. You will not regret it.”

“Yeah, well he needs to be put in his place. I want him to see what I am capable of.”

“Oh! I understand, that little one.” He softened, you could feel his memories of you when Aylwin introduced you to him. You had been a fairly new vampire in those days. “Alywin, has always been so proud of you. You were his best.”

After almost a hundred years, you were tired of telling others of his death. “Jimmy, he’s dead.” You could still seeing his look of determination as he put you into one of the life boats as the Titanic continued to take on water. You had looked up at him till you no longer saw him. Taking, the heavy woolen blanket you hunkered down till the rescue, the cold not making you shake but the possibility of death that you had no choice in.

“Oh my, you are still so sentimental and soft Y/N. What are you talking about? He’s still among us.”

You stopped. Thomas paused on the steps turning to you. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Just thinking what else I should do to her.” You quickly added.

“Well, Alywin wanted a break.” You continued with Jimmy. “It had been four hundred years without any time apart.”

Jimmy, snickered. “Look baby, I am sure it was only that I saw him maybe fifty years ago in the China sea. He was enjoying the rougher elements of existence.” He chuckled harder. “Baby, you want to travel in style with an alpha again, it feels like you have just been shifting around by your lonesome, I’ll take you on.”

“That’s sweet of you Jimmy.”

“That’s me, sweet Jimmy.” He smirked. “If you want, I can make it so your ghoul never misbehaves and he can come with us.” He suggested.

“Oh, Jimmy I am such a young one compared to you. I don’t want to drag you down. And anyways, I am enjoying the taming process. I always did like taming the stallions Alywin got me.”

“Ahh, then have fun. It’s always fun to break them. From what this one says, that Ford is a real asshole. Tame him good, little one. I know you can do it, Alywin taught you well.”

“You are too kind.”

Thomas, stopped then to open the door. As he reached into his pocket to get out the keys, you saw he still had his protection. “Stay as close as possible.” He whispered.

“Alright.” You whispered.

Once, the door was opened, he called out. “Cammy?” You could hear the shower turning off. “Cammy?”

Short moments later, the door opened, steam poured out. Glancing carefully around him; you watched as she slid out in a scarlet night dress. You slid back behind him.

“Ford.” She screeched.

“What have you been doing?” He said, gently. “I’m back.”

“I think you mean ‘who’ !” Jimmy, then came out from behind her.

“I am gone one day and you, made a new friend?” He sounded put out.

“Yeah, baby.” You heard her squeak. “Look you probably, fucked her right? Well, I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun.”

While, they spoke you reached under his jacket and grabbed his gun. You had to do this. The world doesn’t need another ghoul, you thought. Coming out from behind Thomas, you raised your hand aimed.

The bullet slammed into Jimmy’s heart.

Dropping the gun, you shook. His life force, shocked slammed you into the bookcase behind you. You shook it off, it had only taken you off you guard. You were stronger then him because of Aylwin.

You went over to Jimmy’s body as he gasped and shook as he was dying. You barely heard the screecher screaming.

“Hi Jimmy.” You smiled tilting you head. “I couldn’t risk you killing Thomas.”

“You fucking bitch.” His body then crumbled into dust. His fangs and the bullet were left behind in the pile of dust.

Sliding, the screecher a look, she had finally stopped screaming and was standing there looking at you. “You, you...what are you doing here?” She trembled.

You didn’t bother answering you took a step closer to her. Reaching, your nails lengthened, as you were poised to attack. They sliced right through the material and into her soft flesh.

You grabbed her heart. “Cammy,” You smiled, as you kept holding it. You watched as shock splash across her face. “He was actually mine almost five hundred years ago. I don’t feel like sharing.” A simple tug, you flinched as her blood splattered across your face as you ripped her heart out. She was dead as slumped at your feet, dead. You dropped the reddish, black lump of flesh.

Two hands came around your shoulders, and cold lips pressed a kiss onto your temple. “Damn, you are fucking amazing.”

Tilting, your head to one side you looked up at “Thank you.” You let yourself lean against him.

“What’s the matter?”

Turning, “Alywin is still alive.”

******

Thomas, eyed you as began to wash the blood off of you. “I thought you said, he was dead.”

“He was supposed to be. He never came to find me after the Titanic went down. And his body was never recovered.”

“What does that mean for us? What does that mean for me?”

“I don’t know.”

*****

He dipped the washcloth under the faucet again. He held it up for a moment. “I am glad the water is a myth considering that the sun actually does effect you.”

You giggled. “Yes, me too. I’ve enjoyed all it has to offer over the years.”

“I would love to see you in a bikini on a beach.” He said before he could not stop himself from saying it.

You smiled. “I suppose, I could wear at least one of them for you.”

He grazed the wash cloth over the top of your breasts.

“There was no blood there.”

“I know.”

He pulled and tugged himself free the leather jacket, you reached out and pulled off the trophy from his throat. You found yourself straddling in his lap with his arms around you. Not a word passed between you as you looked each other.

“This time if he comes, we will put up a fight.”

You shivered, as an image of the two of you igniting under a kiss from the sun filled your mind.

After years of anguish you felt his lips. Everything else disappeared.

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